


Recompense

by Flywolf33



Series: Recompense [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Also I'm an idiot because I put all the tags in the relationships bit for some reason, Angst, Aziraphale waited a long time to look for him - Freeform, Blackout PTSD episodes - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally hurt crowley, Godfather Aziraphale, Godfather Crowley, Happy Ending, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, I'm terrible at this, Major character death is not graphic - Freeform, Missing Crowley - Freeform, Multi, PTSD, The Bentley can be an ass sometimes - Freeform, Time blur - Freeform, Torture, WHUMP!Crowley, Well sort of happy, Wings, aziraphale - Freeform, beta, but there's a lot of angst first - Freeform, but things turn out okay in the end, comfort at the end, crowley - Freeform, don't repost to another site, emotionally hurt aziraphale - Freeform, hell has Crowley - Freeform, hurt aziraphale, i'll add tags as i go, ineffable husbands, maybe bittersweet is better, torture is not graphic - Freeform, well mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywolf33/pseuds/Flywolf33
Summary: At first, he didn’t realize anything was wrong.  They’d had a row, which wasn’t entirely unusual, and Crowley had stormed off with a few harsh words he didn’t mean flung over his shoulder.  Aziraphale had flung a few of his own untruths, though he always knew they hurt the demon far more than either of them would admit.To his everlasting shame, Aziraphale didn’t start looking for another two years.By that time, the trail had gone cold and he couldn’t sense Crowley’s aura anywhere.This has nothing to do with my other GO stuff at all. This has been bouncing around in my head and I finally got it on paper.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands - Relationship, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: Recompense [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969081
Comments: 129
Kudos: 346





	1. The Row

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So... obviously I haven't been updating every day, but I _have_ been writing every day, creating this monstrosity. 
> 
> There's a bit in the scriptbook where Hastur says "I've been reading your reports on the Spanish Inquisition and American CIA interrogation tactics. We'll take one from list A and one from list B, repeat until squishy."
> 
> So of course I had to write it.
> 
> Huge thanks to my dear friend Brickosaur for the beta!

At first, he didn’t realize anything was wrong. They’d had a row, which wasn’t entirely unusual, and Crowley had stormed off with a few harsh words he didn’t mean flung over his shoulder. Aziraphale had flung a few of his own untruths, though he always knew they hurt the demon far more than either of them would admit.

He thought Crowley was sleeping it off, like he had with the Holy water incident. Unlike then, however, Aziraphale wasn’t willing to let it go half a century. Instead of waiting for Crowley to return to him – like he always had – the angel gave it three weeks before going to his friend’s flat to make amends and apologize.

Crowley wasn’t there. It looked like he hadn’t been for some time. His plants were dry and wilting, though trying valiantly to remain green. A layer of dust had settled over the place.

So Aziraphale figured Crowley had left the country to clear his head and settled for leaving a note and waiting. At least he could say he tried.

To his everlasting shame, Aziraphale didn’t start looking for another two years, despite how lonely he was and how he thought about Crowley and regretted that stupid fight every day. The days he was awake, that is; with no Heaven to answer to and no Crowley, Aziraphale had taken a leaf from the demon’s book and slept most of his days away.

By that time, the trail had gone cold and he couldn’t sense Crowley’s aura anywhere. He checked everywhere, searching every corner of the planet for any whiff of the demon. There was nothing. His next thought was that Crowley had gone to Alpha Centauri after all and left the angel alone on Earth with his own cowardice.

Aziraphale turned to the only humans he thought could even begin to understand how to help. All of them, fortunately, lived in Tadfield now. He hadn’t realized Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell had moved into a cottage just down the street from Anathema. 

He hadn’t noticed a lot of things.

The pair of witches helped him as best they could, but in the end, there was nothing to be found. Not even a single scale at his flat, which had been cleared out and rented to a new tenant. Somehow Aziraphale managed to get hold of the Bentley, which had been put up for auction.

The angel wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He didn’t want to give up; he had the horrible feeling that he’d missed something critical, but he couldn’t place what it was. Acquiring the Bentley in and of itself was a major red flag; even if he abandoned his plants, the demon loved his car far too much to let it go to a someone else. Still, five years after Crowley’s disappearance and he still couldn’t comprehend the loss. He couldn’t stay in his bookshop; every time he turned around there were reminders of his best friend’s existence and continued absence. Memories of drinking and laughing and plotting to stop Armageddon swam before his eyes whenever his focus drifted. Even worse was the memory of the fight; so stupid, so unnecessary.

And all Aziraphale’s fault. Perhaps this time he’d wounded Crowley so deeply the demon had decided he was better off without the angel. Aziraphale refused to even think about the alternative.

“You could move in with us,” Anathema had suggested.

“What?”

The witch took this in stride. “Me and Newt, after the wedding. We’re going to the South Downs.”

Aziraphale shook his head forcefully. “I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“What about next door? There’s a lovely place right next to the one we’ve bought that’s been vacant for a while; we looked at it and it seems right up your alley.”

The angel had made a noncommittal sound to appease the girl and allowed her to keep talking about whatever it was she was going on about before.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her concern; he did, he just didn’t want to give the impression they needed to take care of him. He was an Angel, after all. A Principality, the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He’d been a soldier, once.

But now he was alone. Truly, utterly alone. No Heaven to give him purpose, no Crowley to ease his loneliness.

He called Anathema.

The cottage was a good size, albeit a bit large for a single person. Luckily, it meant there was plenty of room for Aziraphale’s books. He had to make a few modifications to the floorplan – he added quite a bit of space onto the back of the house – and he _still_ ended up accepting Newt and Anathema’s offer of one of their spare rooms for some of his less-valuable pieces. Eventually, he managed to move his collection out of Soho and sell the shop. 

Sometimes he would set out to search the world again, hoping that whatever Crowley had done to hide himself would be weaker, or at least the demon might finally be willing to allow contact again. There was no such luck, and Aziraphale’s trips went from monthly to yearly, and from yearly to every two or three.

Soon Anathema and Newt had a daughter, who took to calling him “Papa Fell” when she was old enough to talk. Little Nora Device-Pulsifer was a bright spot in the increasingly dull existence Aziraphale led. He knew her parents were trying – one of them was over every day to tend the garden and invite him to dinner, which he always attended more out of obligation than any actual enjoyment of food – and Tracy and Shadwell even made the trip out to see them as often as they could. They still asked him how his search for Crowley was going and offered new insight where they might have some. Even Adam and his friends started coming to visit whenever possible.

Nora became Aziraphale’s new purpose. He adored her. She was strong-spirited like her mother; kind and curious like her father. She seemed to make it her personal goal to make him smile, and usually succeeded within moments of laying eyes on him. She took his apparent agelessness in stride and accepted the truth of his angelic nature without dissent.

“Papa Fell, who is Crowley?”

Aziraphale had frozen in place. He actively avoided speaking about Crowley, even when Anathema and Tracy asked. She must have picked up the name from her parents at some point.

“Papa?”

He’d looked down at the toddler, trying and failing to summon a smile. “Someone I knew a long time ago.”

She hadn’t pushed for more information, and she didn’t ask again until she was an adult.

Nora made a good older sister, taking it upon herself as the eldest to educate her younger brother on the oddities of their godfather. Jeremy, as his parents named (and actually _called_) him, followed his sister around the angel’s cottage, hanging on her every word and looking around with awe as he dragged his blanket behind him.

Sergeant Shadwell passed away in his sleep in the middle of a particularly blustery January. Tracy had called Anathema, who passed the news to Aziraphale that morning. They attended the funeral together the following week. Nora, who had considered Shadwell something like a grandfather, had clung to her parents the entire time. Jeremy wasn’t quite old enough to understand something as final as death and spent the time sitting in Aziraphale’s lap and loudly whispering to him. The angel might have used a miracle to keep the boy’s voice between them so the rest of the attendees could mourn. It wasn’t a large affair, but several of their neighbors had come to support Tracy and pay their respects to her husband.

Nora was fifteen and Jeremy eight when the third Device-Pulsifer was born. He arrived early and consequently was underweight and ill. Aziraphale took it upon himself to look after the two eldest – Nora protested that she was old enough to look after herself, and Jeremy of course followed suit – while Newt and Anathema transferred to a larger hospital in London. The tiniest Device-Pulsifer quickly grew in strength and before they knew it, Anathema and Newt were returning home with him.

“They said it was a miracle he wasn’t stillborn,” Anathema said quietly after greeting her children and carefully handing the baby to Nora. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks warmed as he watched Nora and Jeremy fawn over their new baby brother, but he didn’t reply.

He felt Anathema’s gaze on him. “We named him Bran,” she said.

The angel’s eyes snapped up her hers, growing wide. 

“It means ‘crow’,” she continued without breaking eye contact.

“I know,” Aziraphale swallowed and looked back down at the baby, who was giggling at the faces his sister was making at him. Jeremy was standing on tip-toe trying to get a good look so Nora crouched down to show him how to support the baby’s head properly before very gently transferring Bran to his brother’s arms.

“We’ll find him,” the witch murmured, still watching him.

“He doesn’t want to be found.”

The night before Nora moved to university, she asked about Crowley again.

“I know he’s a demon and you’ve been looking for him,” she said stubbornly as Aziraphale searched for a way to get out of the conversation. “I want to know.”

“It’s a rather long story…”

“I’ve got time,” Nora crossed her arms and planted herself in one of the angel’s reading chairs.

Aziraphale knew there wouldn’t be an escape this time and sighed. “Alright. Let me just put the kettle on.”

Sensing a bedtime story, Nora’s brothers – now thirteen and five – sneaked into the room. They didn’t go unnoticed, however, and received a sharp look from their sister. “You should be in bed,” she scolded.

“I don’t have a bedtime,” Jeremy argued, “and since Mum and Dad are busy loading Dick Turpin, Bran won’t go to sleep.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “Do you want to hear a story?” he asked the youngest boy, who nodded enthusiastically. The angel glanced between Jeremy, who looked hopeful, and Nora, who had raised her eyebrows, and relented. “Go tuck Bran in; I’ll be up with tea in a moment and I’ll tell you about Crowley.”

He was proud to note he didn’t wince upon saying his name.

Jeremy whisked his younger brother out the door to do as he was told. He’d never asked Aziraphale directly about Crowley, but the angel knew he had to know the name.

“You’re going to tell all of us?” Nora asked, following Aziraphale into the kitchen to help. 

“Might as well. No use going through it again in a few years when your brother inevitably asks.”

“How come you don’t talk about him?”

Aziraphale selected three mugs while Nora put the kettle on. “What have your parents told you?”

“That he was your friend and helped stop Armageddon, and then he vanished right after and you can’t find him.”

“That’s it?”

Nora shrugged. “Mum said it wasn’t her right to tell me.”

Aziraphale had to say he rather agreed.

Once the tea was ready, the angel and his goddaughter returned to her parents’ house and joined Bran and Jeremy in the youngest boy’s room. It took a moment to get everyone settled – Bran kept bouncing with excitement – but a severe look and throat-clearing from Nora had her brothers in line.

“Right then, I suppose I should start at the beginning,” Aziraphale mused, leaning back in the rocker he’d gifted the Device-Pulsifers when Nora was born. “In the Beginning, in the Garden, he was a wily old serpent, and _I_ was technically on apple-tree duty…”

Once Nora was gone, her brothers took it upon themselves to spend as much time as they could with Aziraphale. They were homeschooled – Anathema had insisted, and Aziraphale offered to help wherever he could – which meant they had a lot of free time in the afternoons. They had friends in the neighborhood, of course, but both boys had taken to turning down playdate invitations in preference to having a quiet cup of tea with their godfather and listening to his stories.

It was around this time that Adam, who had gotten rather busy with life, started coming ‘round with his own son, Arthur, who was only a couple years younger than Jeremy. The two hit it off immediately, and Aziraphale was glad to see the former antichrist had settled down with Pepper and the pair were living relatively normal lives.

Tracy passed about a year after Nora left for university. Her funeral was larger than Shadwell’s had been, but then she’d had quite the range of influence once upon a time. Bran was older than Jeremy had been, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but note the similarities between how they coped with the loss of someone they knew as family.

“Did she go to be with Crowley?”

The question had caused the entire family to fall still. Anathema reached out to take Bran from Aziraphale, but the angel shook his head at her. “Why do you ask that?”

The boy’s face scrunched. “Because she’s gone and not coming back, just like Crowley.”

Nora cringed while Newt rubbed between his eyes. Aziraphale had to fight the urge to snap at his youngest godson; he hadn’t meant it to be hurtful. 

“Yeah,” he said instead, voice gentle, “she did.”

Anathema and Nora tried to corner him after, but Aziraphale slipped away before they could try to peek into his brain. They only meant well, he knew, but he didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Crowley probably _wasn’t_ coming back.

He left town that weekend, leaving a note on his desk to tell Anathema he would be back soon; it had been several years since he’d looked, and he ought to take a turn around the planet again.

He didn’t return for two years.

The problem with being an angel was facing eternity alone. Oh, Aziraphale could surround himself with friends and something as close to family as an ethereal being could get, but in the end, he was still immortal, and humans… well, they weren’t.

He should have been there. He hadn’t _really_ needed to spend so much time away, but Aziraphale had been a coward and didn’t want to face Anathema and Newt’s scrutiny upon his return.

Well, now he wouldn’t have to.

“They told me it was instant,” Nora said, slipping her arm into Aziraphale’s as they stood before the headstones. “The road was wet, and the other driver was drunk, and they were going so fast…”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, voice breaking.

Nora twitched in what was almost a shrug. “Mum and Dad were getting on, but Bran…” She had to stop, and Aziraphale squeezed her hand on his arm. “He was only seven,” she finished after a moment, voice thick and blinking rapidly.

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“He’s been staying with Adam while I finish school. Mum was an only child and Gran left everything to us, so we don’t have to worry about money, but he didn’t want to stay in the house alone.”

Aziraphale didn’t blame him.

“He can stay with me, if he’d like,” he said quietly. “I understand… if he’s angry with me… but the offer’s there.”

Nora’s brow furrowed as she turned to look at the angel. “Why would he be angry with you?”

“I left. You lost both your parents and your little brother all at once and I… I was gone. I should have been here.”

“He understands. We both do.”

“Regardless.”

They stood in silence for a while before Aziraphale withdrew his arm from Nora’s and crouched down to touch the grass before the three headstones. Blossoms sprang up under his fingers, curling around and between the stones and forming a wreath of blue, gold, and purple. There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, and when the angel rose Nora was wiping her eyes.

“Let’s go home,” she sniffed.

Aziraphale didn’t argue.

Jeremy decided to stay with the Youngs so he didn’t have to switch schools – now that he had to attend public school – but he did come visit Aziraphale on the weekends and for the holidays. He was quieter than he had been before, but that was to be expected.

“I understand now,” he said once over dinner, “why you keep looking for Crowley.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale had to swallow before he could speak, but Jeremy didn’t give him the chance.

“If I had any chance at bringing them back, any at all, I’d look for it forever.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched and he couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “I’ve been to Heaven. They’re in a very nice place.”

Jeremy had just nodded and resumed eating. He hadn’t looked away from his plate once the entire conversation, and once finished he quietly excused himself and went to bed. Aziraphale later heard him crying and slipped into his room to sit on the foot of the teenager’s bed. He’d tucked himself into Aziraphale’s chest and sobbed himself to sleep while the angel gently rocked him and tried to soothe his thoughts without using too much miracle power. Aziraphale stayed with him through the night, warding off nightmares and granting him a restful sleep.

Neither of them said anything about it again.

The following year was a better one. Nora both graduated university and married a charming young man by the name of Eric. They moved back into the cottage next door to Aziraphale, and Jeremy soon came home to live with them. Eric had been unsure of Aziraphale at first, but after a startling incident where he’d walked into Aziraphale’s house to find the angel in the middle of grooming his wings, he settled into his new life of weird and abnormal excellently.

By the time Jeremy was getting ready to head to university himself, Nora and Eric had a daughter, who they named after Anathema but called Annie. She was a bright young child who took after her mother and absolutely _adored_ her uncle.

Her father doted on her much in the same way Newt had doted on Nora as a child, and Aziraphale was reminded again just how _lonely_ it was to be the only immortal being on earth. The years slipped by without him noticing, it seemed. Before he knew it, Annie was toddling about screaming “Zaza!” whenever she saw the angel and trying to climb onto his shoulders. She’d seen his wings once too and now tried to coax them out every opportunity she got.

Jeremy soon had a partner of his own: Adam’s son, much to Aziraphale’s delight. They quickly adopted a baby boy, and after first discussing it with the family named him Bran. They chose to stay in Tadfield to be close to Adam and Pepper but came to visit at least once a month.

With his godchildren grown and moving forward in life, Aziraphale fully expected to become obsolete and fade into the background. It had happened many times before, and had he still been in the service of Heaven he would have already done so. 

Almost as if she sensed this, Nora renewed her efforts to include the angel in her life with new vigor. Eric accepted this good-naturedly and without complaint. As Annie grew, she spent most afternoons among Aziraphale’s books, reading or being read to. Her father even took the time to peruse the extensive collection, always careful enough with the items that Aziraphale didn’t feel the need to keep an eye on them when they were there.

He fell into this new routine with the comfort of knowing that he had a family now, even if he would continue to outlive every member of it. There was a simple joy to the quiet sort of life he’d built up with the Device-Pulsifer family – Eric had decided to take his wife’s surname, as he wasn’t overly fond of his own, and Aziraphale never asked for more information.

The ache left in his chest at the loss of Crowley was still there, of course, but it had scabbed over and faded with time. New mention of the demon brought it back to the surface, but each time seemed to hurt less and less. On the occasions Aziraphale slept he still had nightmares about that fight, still wished he could go back and beat himself over the head with some sense, and still blamed himself for Crowley’s decision to leave. He still missed his best friend.

But he finally stopped looking.

That is, until he ran into Hastur.


	2. The Run-In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only need to write the last two chapters so I'm going to try to update this at least once a week, possibly twice. 
> 
> I'm definitely going to owe you guys a lot of fluff after this...
> 
> I've proofread this and the wonderful Brickosaur beta read for me, but please let me know if you see any typos or other errors, and as always please let me know what you think!

Annie had wanted to go to London for the day to meet up with a friend who’d moved a few months prior. Since Jeremy was visiting that weekend with Bran, Aziraphale offered to take both children to the city and give their parents time to catch up. Annie, who was sixteen now, wanted to drive, but her godfather resolutely refused. There was no way he was letting her take the Bentley into the city, even with him on hand to avert disaster.

After dropping Annie off at her friend’s place, Aziraphale found a place to park and decided to walk Bran through Soho.

“I never brought your parents here,” he told the boy, who had been incredibly disappointed he couldn’t go with his cousin to the zoo. “It’s the first time I’ve been back in…” he thought for a moment. “Almost fifty years.”

The eight-year-old bounced in excitement tugging on the angel’s hands as they made their way up the sidewalk. Aziraphale’s chest ached with both the familiarity and difference. His favorite sushi restaurant had been replaced with a café. His barbershop was still there, though he knew the man he used to see was long dead.

And there, on the corner, his bookshop. Aziraphale had to stop and catch his breath when he saw it. It looked the same, except the name above the door had changed and it had regular hours posted clearly on the glass.

“Papa Fell?” Bran asked, staring up at his godfather with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. “That was my bookshop,” he said softly. “I lived there for a _very_ long time.”

“How long?”

He hummed. “About two hundred years? I opened it in 1800.”

Bran’s eyes grew wider and he looked back at the shop across the street. “Why did you leave?”

A pang shot through the angel. “Things change. Come along; let’s go to the park shall we?”

It was on the way that a wave of unease washed over the angel and he caught a flash of white hair from the corner of his eye. He whipped around, searching the crowd until he saw a tan coat slipping into an alley.

A combination of panic and rage swelled in Aziraphale’s chest. He wanted more than anything to follow the demon and smite him where he stood, or demand to know where Crowley was, but he had Bran with him. The trusting boy’s hand was warm in his own and grounded him, holding him back even as he took a step after the Duke of Hell.

“What is it?” Bran asked.

Aziraphale ground his teeth. He could still feel Hastur there, lurking; it was almost as if he _wanted_ the angel to come after him.

All the more reason to get Bran to safety.

The Principality looked around desperately and his eyes landed on a café. He tugged Bran inside despite the boy’s noise of protest. He sat him down, ordered him a cocoa (which miraculously appeared on the table moments later) and commanded him to stay put.

The boy’s eyes were wide with fear now. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stay here and don’t move. Don’t go with anyone. I’ll be back soon.”

Bran licked his lips, glanced between his godfather and the street outside, and nodded. He clutched his cocoa tightly.

“If you’re good, I’ll buy you an ice cream at the park,” Aziraphale promised before rushing out the door.

Hastur was still there. Aziraphale could feel his power, tempting a man in a business suit to push that young lady behind the dumpster and…

The angel snatched the demon by the lapels of his coat and slammed him against the alley wall, raising wards around them to shield them from human eyes. One hand wrapped around the demon’s throat, pinning him in place. “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

Fear flickered over the demon’s face before he started laughing. “_Somebody_ had to take over Crowley’s position,” he snickered. The sound grated on Aziraphale’s ears. “Since the bastard is too busy to take care of it these days.”

“You know where he is?” Aziraphale asked, hoping Hastur couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart.

“Of course I do, I _put_ him there!” he said. His black eyes twinkled with malice. “He knew what was coming; honestly I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight.” He looked the angel pinning him to the wall up and down. “Now I can see why.”

Aziraphale tightened his grip, causing the demon’s laughter to choke off. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think we don’t know what you two did? We really expected you to come looking for him. All that work to cover our tracks… just wasted effort.” He giggled again. “All that suffering for an angel who really didn’t care for him after all.”

The air was punched from Aziraphale’s lungs. Hell had Crowley. Hell had Crowley and they knew… “I _do_ care,” he snapped, power surging within him enough to make the Duke flinch. “What have you done with him?”

Hastur looked at him, calculating. Aziraphale expected him to lie, to push back; he _was_ a demon after all. He seemed to reach a decision, a slow, insidious smile splitting his nasty face. “Exactly what we told him we would do. One from list A, one from list B, repeat until squishy.”

His horror must have shown on his face because Hastur started cackling again, reaching up to grip Aziraphale’s hand with both of his own. The grasp hurt, but the Principality would not be dissuaded. Anger overtook him and he swelled, standing up straight and calling upon all his righteous fury. Power surged through him and there was a high-pitched screaming, then all that was left of the Duke of hell was a dark blast stain on the brick wall.

Aziraphale stood there panting, staring at the spot. He hadn’t properly smitten anything in millennia. It left him feeling drained, in more ways than one.

Crowley wasn’t on earth. He hadn’t been hiding from him. He’d been taken by Hell and… well, the angel had read his reports on the various interrogation tactics used throughout humanity’s darkest times.

And Aziraphale had stopped looking for him.

Bran leapt from his chair and raced to wrap his arms around his godfather as Aziraphale entered the café. “There was an earthquake,” he said into the angel’s stomach before looking up at him. “Why are you shaking?”

Aziraphale held up his hands and was surprised to note the boy was right. He hadn’t even realized. “It’s nothing,” he murmured, hugging Bran tightly.

“I was scared.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Bran sniffed and stepped back, hand seeking out the angel’s again. “What was it?”

Aziraphale swallowed. Bran was old enough that he knew his godfather was an angel and that Heaven and Hell were real. Actually faced with the reality of the conflict, however… “It was a demon,” Aziraphale said, deciding the truth was better, “and I killed it.”

Brown eyes widened again, and his grip tightened. “Can we go home?” he whimpered, pulling close to bury his face in Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Okay,” the angel murmured, resting his free hand on the back of the boy’s head. He regretted frightening him, but he had to take care of Hastur while he had the chance. Catching a Duke of Hell unaware wasn’t an easy feat.

Aziraphale called Nora when they returned to the car to let her know they were coming back early. She could tell by his tone something had happened, but beyond ensuring the children were unharmed she didn’t push. “I’ll let Annie know she can stay the night,” she said, and hung up.

The drive back to the South Downs was quiet; even the Bentley didn’t seem up to playing music. The moment they got home, Bran was out of the car and flying into his father’s arms. His second father was quick to wrap the pair in a tight hug.

“What happened?” Nora asked, watching her brother try to comfort his son.

“We ran into a Duke of Hell. Hastur.”

Jeremy’s head shot up. “Did he see Bran? Annie?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter. I smote him.”

There was a shocked silence. Arthur – whose father was the antichrist and therefore not unaccustomed to such oddities – shared a look with Eric, who was still standing on the front porch.

“You… _smote_ him?”

The angel nodded once, jaw working.

“_You_…” Nora said again, “smote him?”

Aziraphale eyed her, trying not to be offended. “Just because I prefer a quiet life does not mean I’m not capable of taking care of myself. I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate for a reason, you know.”

They all stared at him a moment more before Arthur lifted his son. “Why don’t we get you some lunch?” he murmured, carrying him into the house. He nodded to Eric, who dutifully followed him, leaving his wife and brother-in-law out front with the angel.

There was silence for several heartbeats before Aziraphale finally broke it.

“They have Crowley.”

“Who?” Jeremy asked.

“Hell,” Aziraphale said. “They’ve had him this whole time, and I-” he shuddered as a sob tore its way up his throat. “I didn’t look for him.”

Both of his godchildren looked startled; neither had ever seen him cry, and here he was, doubled over and sobbing his heart out. They shared a look and Nora very gently rested a hand on his back. “Let’s get you inside,” she murmured.

Aziraphale wasn’t even fully aware that he’d used a miracle, but the trio were abruptly in the middle of his sitting room. There was a strangled gasp from Jeremy, and Nora stood frozen for a moment.

Neither of them had ever been teleported before either. In fact, Aziraphale had kept his miracles to a minimum while they were growing up.

The humans were quickly pulled from their shock as Aziraphale’s legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, face in his hands as he cried. They were both suddenly kneeling beside him, trying to comfort him. Aziraphale could hear their voices, but whatever words they were offering him were lost. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _think_, beyond repeating _I didn’t look I didn’t look I didn’t look_ like a mantra as he succumbed to his grief.

It took a long time for the angel to come back to himself, but when he did, he found he was settled on his sofa with his softest afghan wrapped around him. It was dark.

Aziraphale shifted, muscles surprisingly stiff. 

“You’re awake.”

If he’d had more energy, the angel would have jumped at the unexpected voice, but as it was, he felt too empty to be surprised. It was like when he’d first lost Crowley all over again; he was numb.

He looked over to see Nora uncurling from her favorite of his plush reading chairs. She had a blanket of her own thrown across her lap and way her hair stuck up in the back, combined with how she rubbed her eyes, informed the angel she’d been sleeping.

“What time is it?” he croaked. Why was his voice hoarse?

The woman looked at her phone. “A little after one in the morning,” she said. “How do you feel? Would you like some tea?”

She was already moving, stretching as she stood and heading for the kitchen while casting a concerned glance at him.

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, looking back down at his hands, which were in his lap. It didn’t take her long to return; she must have had the water warmed already. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she crouched down before him, searching his face as he stared into the mug of steaming tea.

He didn’t have an answer.

She sighed after a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I wish mum was here,” she stood back up. “She said this is what you were like at first, but… I don’t know what to do.”

And suddenly Aziraphale understood. He understood why Anathema had fought so hard for him to move with them, for him to live so close. Why she had ensured he was involved in their lives and the lives of their children. Why Nora and Jeremy made sure to keep in touch and keep him from being alone too long. Why they’d insisted he joined them for dinner every night and made sure he ate, even though as an angel he didn’t need to.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, this time looking up to meet Nora’s gaze, “that I’m broken.”

Her brown eyes widened before her expression softened. She dropped onto the settee next to him, torso turned to face him completely as her long fingers wrapped around his own on the mug. “You’re not broken,” she said softly but firmly. 

Aziraphale couldn’t stand the love he saw in her face and looked back down to his tea. “I’ve been nothing but a burden on your family.”

“How dare you.”

The trembling rage in Nora’s voice made Aziraphale look up again, startled. The quiet fury in her face broke through his apathy and pinned him in place. He wasn’t sure he could look away again even if he wanted to.

“How _dare_ you call yourself a burden. How _dare_ you suggest that you’re anything less than our beloved godfather, who looked out for us as we grew; who told us the best stories and showed us the best games; who’s only crime was loving humanity so much he stopped Armageddon and loving a demon so completely his absence made the world bare.”

Aziraphale flinched away from her words, but he couldn’t break his eyes away from her heated gaze.

“How _dare_ you discount how much you mean to us,” she finished, whisper quivering with emotion.

Aziraphale licked his lips and opened his mouth to reply.

“And don’t you _dare_ apologize,” she added severely.

His mouth snapped shut.

Nora glared at him for another full minute, tears glinting in her eyes, before relenting and pulling him into a hug. “We love you, Papa,” she murmured into his ear, voice thick.

Very slowly, Aziraphale wrapped one arm around her and patted her back. “I love you too, my dear,” he sniffed, eyes burning.

Nora sat back and gave him a watery smile. “Now,” she said, “what can we do to get Crowley back?”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

“Crowley. We’re going to get him from Hell, right? What can we do?”

He shook his head. “There’s not…” he stopped. Was he really going to let it be, knowing what his best friend was going through? No way. He’d already given up on him once; he wouldn’t do so again. He straightened in his seat, the last of his apathy draining away to be replaced by cold determination.

Nora noticed the change and smiled. “There we go.”

“I need to do some research,” Aziraphale said, placing his tea on the end table and standing. He glanced back down at his goddaughter, who was in the process of trying to stifle a yawn. Affection bloomed in his chest. “Go on home and get some sleep,” he told her gently. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Promise you’ll come get me when you find something?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, my dear.”

“Good.” She stood and gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, Papa.”

Aziraphale watched until Nora was safely back in her own house and then locked the door and ascended to his study. He stared at the shelves, so full of books by all rights they shouldn’t still be standing, and sighed. “I’m coming, Crowley. Just hold on; I’m coming.”


	3. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this chapter: Graphic detail of injuries from torture. If you don't want to read what Crowley looks like, do NOT read the paragraph that starts "the door creaked as it opened". It's just that one paragraph, so you can start reading at "One from List A".
> 
> Thanks again to the wonderful Brickosaur for the beta, and to all you lovely readers for sticking with me! 
> 
> Please leave any feedback you have; comments are life!

For the first time in a long time, Aziraphale had a set purpose. Sure, looking after the Device-Pulsifer children had been a purpose, but more of a meandering one. Now he had a proper job with an explicit goal: rescue Crowley.

Jeremy and Nora were still worried about him, he could tell; there was somebody at his house almost constantly. Jeremy had pulled some strings so he could work from home and decided to stay in Aziraphale’s spare bedroom (read: laid out a mattress on the floor in one of the angel’s many libraries) rather than at his sister’s. Arthur and Bran stayed at home, though they would come down on the weekends. Sometimes Adam and Pepper would join them.

Finally, Aziraphale had enough. “I’m just going to go get him,” he said one night, slamming his book shut and standing.

“Right now?” Nora looked up in alarm.

“Yes,” Aziraphale glanced around the sitting room, as if looking for something.

“Just you?”

“Yes. Although it would be nice if I could find my flaming sword…”

Jeremy looked up from his own book. “The one you gave the postman?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“I’m sure we can find it,” Nora said. “If you only gave us another few days-”

“He’s been down there almost fifty years, Nora, and I’ve known about it a month. It’s been long enough.” Aziraphale started for the door.

Both siblings bolted in front of him, blocking the way. “You can’t just march into Hell unarmed!” Nora exclaimed.

“At least let us help you find your sword,” Jeremy reasoned. “You won’t be any good to Crowley dead.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked between their faces, which were both torn between fear and determination. Whether that fear was _for_ him or _of_ him, the angel wasn’t sure. He sighed. “Alright. But only a week.”

It took four days. Annie had done some online research and something she called ‘hacking’ – Aziraphale remembered Crowley saying something about this when the M25 was built – and found the records immediately following the failed Armageddon. It was only a small matter for Aziraphale to go and collect it, warding himself so heavily he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to see himself in a mirror, let alone be sensed by humans and their technology.

After collecting it he was supposed to go back home to regroup, but the moment the box was in Aziraphale’s hands he knew he couldn’t. They would only try to plan more and convince him to let them – or at least Nora, who had inherited her mother’s magical talent – come with him.

There was no way that was going to happen and arguing with them was only going to take longer.

Aziraphale stepped into a dark corner in the street and opened the package. The rush of power he felt the moment his fingers touched his sword’s hilt was intoxicating; it was like the final piece of a puzzle; he was complete. How he could ever have given this away, he didn’t know.

The flames roared to life as soon as the blade was free of its sheath, but nobody turned to look. Good, his wards were holding.

The mobile phone Nora forced Aziraphale to get carry started ringing. It was Jeremy. Aziraphale debated silencing it, but then they’d know something was going on. He sheathed the sword and answered it.

“Are you there? Did you get it?”

“I got the correct package dear boy,” Aziraphale assured him. “I’ll be home forthwith.”

“He got it,” Jeremy said, though clearly to someone else in the room. “We’ll see you soon,” he said back into the phone.

“Soon,” the angel agreed, then hung up and shut the device off.

Soon.

The office building stood tall and ominous before Aziraphale. He hadn’t been here since the trials, and honestly hadn’t expected to return. He’d considered taking a backroad into Hell but thought this would both make a bigger impression and be more unexpected. He also knew the moment he walked through the doors his wards would begin to disintegrate. He would have only a few minutes – three, max – to get down the escalator before he was visible to everyone.

If they didn’t already know he was here.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, unsheathed his sword, and stepped inside.

He moved swiftly and with purpose, walking down the escalator even as it moved. He made it halfway through Hell’s own lobby, which was packed with demons, before his wards finally failed him. He timed the exact moment they were about to fade completely.

The moment they dropped, he extended his wings and brandished the sword. The demons closest to him scrambled to flee the burn of his Grace even before he was fully visible, and the room fell absolutely still. The only sound was the faint drip of water echoing down the halls.

“Where is he,” Aziraphale said.

There was another moment of silence. It was clear to the angel that Hell’s occupants were debating whether or not to attack him or flee, and he wasn’t sure which would be more satisfying: watching them scramble over each other to escape, or ending each and every one of their pitiful existences for daring to lay a finger on Crowley.

“Took you long enough,” a bored voice said to his right.

Aziraphale spun, the motion causing several demons to flinch, to face Beelzebub and Dagon. The pair were standing in the doorway, surveying the room with an air of disappointment.

“Where is he,” Aziraphale demanded again, taking a single step toward the Prince and their associate.

“Do you really think you can defeat the Hordes of Hell on our own turf?” Beelzebub asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed and he took another step forward. He was pleased to note Dagon taking a tiny step back. “Where is he.”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Is he _really_ worth the effort? It took you _fifty years_ to notice he was missing in the first place.”

“No it didn’t,” Aziraphale snapped, and immediately regretted it when he saw the flicker of triumph on the Prince of Hell’s face.

“I take it _you_ killed Hastur?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale stepped forward again. “Where is he.”

Beelzebub shrugged. “Honestly he’s not worth it, but if you want him, follow me.”

They turned – a bold move – and led Aziraphale down the hallway. The angel followed, aware of the army of demons keeping a short distance behind him. He would have a harder time fighting in the more confined area of the hallway, but he knew he’d have to pass through them to find his best friend anyway.

As they walked, faint screaming echoed up the halls. There were several different voices, though sometimes one would crescendo above the others, pleading for relief. Aziraphale swallowed, wings prickling as it grew louder.

“He’s in that one over there,” Beelzebub said dispassionately, gesturing at a door about halfway down a second hallway. “He was our favorite plaything, but he’s kind of boring now.”

Aziraphale eyed the Prince before slowly moving down the hall. He was followed, of course, but Beelzebub and Dagon had disappeared.

The door creaked as it opened, and a faint mewling sob reached the angel’s ears. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, he saw Crowley huddled in chains in the corner. He was completely naked and was covered in cuts and gashes, both fresh and oozing and scarred over. Patches of his flesh looked to be melted or completely eaten away. What skin was left was completely black and blue; Aziraphale couldn’t see a single piece of him that _wasn’t_ bruised. His hair was nearly nonexistent; it looked like most of it had been burned off.

_“One from list A, one from list B, repeat until squishy_.”

Rage built in Aziraphale even as he slowly crossed the room to his best friend, who squeaked and cringed back into the corner, trying to make himself as tiny as possible while staring up at him, eyes so wide it looked painful. His movements were clumsy and labored; his limbs were odd shapes and Aziraphale internally cringed at how much simply _breathing_ must hurt, let alone moving. The angel sheathed the sword, disintegrated the chains, and very gently gathered the demon in his arms. Crowley fought for a moment, but quickly gave in, eyes rolling back as he passed out.

Once he had Crowley cradled against his chest, Aziraphale unleashed his righteous fury, smiting every demon that had dared to follow him into the room. It was unfortunate Beelzebub and Dagon had been smart enough to vacate the area.

When the light faded, Aziraphale was left standing in a smoking room with a bleeding and unconscious demon in his arms. He extended his wings and instead of leaving the way he came, flew straight up, moving earth out of his way as he ascended. Hell could deal with the hole in their ceiling. It was less than they deserved.

They came up in an empty field somewhere. Aziraphale wasn’t certain where they were, but he had a strong feeling it wasn’t England. Probably not even Europe, really.

Crowley’s injuries looked different in the sunlight. Worse, almost. Aziraphale could see many of them cut down into Crowley’s demonic essence, meaning he couldn’t heal his friend. It was clear to the angel the only reason Crowley’s corporation hadn’t been destroyed was because Hell hadn’t wanted it to. It had been picked apart and put back together countless times. Aziraphale Looked Deep to peer at the demon’s wings and was dismayed to find he couldn’t see them at all. They were just… _gone_.

He hoped against hope it was just a fluke, a drain on his energy from the output of his power that day.

Since Aziraphale had layered enough wards over both his and Nora’s cottage to keep angels and demons alike from entering, he miracled himself to the sidewalk in front of his garden. He took down just enough warding to allow him to carry Crowley through, then put it back up. His wings curled protectively around them, trying to shield Crowley’s dignity as much as possible.

There was movement and Nora’s front door burst open. The Device-Pulsifer siblings rushed out, quickly followed by Arthur. Eric stopped in the doorway, firmly blocking the path of his daughter and nephew.

“What the _hell_ took you so long?” Nora was screaming as she ran across the garden. She froze when she got close enough to see the body curled in her godfather’s arms around Aziraphale’s wings and Jeremy nearly ran into her.

“Hell,” Aziraphale said without stopping.

Arthur looked like he was going to be sick. “Keep them inside,” he called to Eric, who closed the door on Annie’s protests. “I’m going to call Dad,” he added to Jeremy, who nodded mutely.

The siblings followed Aziraphale into his cottage and up the stairs to where he stopped in the doorway of one of his larger library rooms. He shifted the limp demon in his arms and snapped, shifting the bookshelves and adding a large bed in the corner with a stand next to it. The sheets were soft black cotton and already turned back so the angel could gently lay the demon in place.

“You were supposed to come back here first!” Nora hissed from the doorway, though she stared at his work with wide eyes. “What if you’d needed help?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said gently without looking up from his demon, “just because I have chosen not to use miracles around you does not mean I’m powerless.”

With a flick of his hand, Aziraphale created a bowl of clean, warm – definitely _not_ Holy – water and a pair of soft cloths on top of the bedside table. He also summoned a chair and rolled up his sleeves before finally looking up. The pair in the doorway were staring at him with something akin to awe. He didn’t really dwell on how odd it must be for them to see him using such power; he’d done things the human way the entire time both children had been alive. Sometimes he wondered if they ever forgot he was, in fact, an angel.

His face softened. “It’s going to take a long time to help him; they damaged his essence and I can’t heal that without risking destroying him.”

Arthur appeared then, tucking his mobile into his pocket. “Dad says he and Mum can get down here this weekend to see if they can do anything to help,” he said.

Aziraphale nodded, sat down, and began cleaning Crowley the best he could.

It was several days before Crowley woke up. There were a few times where Aziraphale was sure the demon was coming to; he could see a glint of gold under flickering eyelids, but in the end, Crowley just slipped back into unconsciousness.

Adam and Pepper had come and gone. The former antichrist was able to set and mend the broken bones – even the old breaks that had healed wrong – but that was the extent of his ability. “I’m getting old,” he’d said, smiling apologetically at the angel.

“No need to be sorry, dear boy; you’ve done more than I can.” Aziraphale patted Adam’s hand. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale spent every moment with Crowley; Nora and Jeremy tried to convince him to get some fresh air, but the angel could not be dissuaded. He would be right here when his best friend woke up.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Crowley woke up slowly; Aziraphale, who had been dozing off in his chair, was made aware of the progress by the quiet flexing of fingers against the blankets. Golden eyes opened slowly, glancing warily around the room. When they landed on Aziraphale, the demon fully flinched back, sliding himself into the wall on the opposite side of the bed. Confusion flickered over his face, but his pupils remained dilated with terror as he stared at the angel.

Aziraphale startled at the sudden motion. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed, reaching forward to try to calm his friend and fighting the pang of hurt that stabbed through him when Crowley cringed away from the touch, eyes never leaving his face. Aziraphale dropped his hands back to his sides, fidgeting. “It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he tried again.

Crowley’s breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, and he trembled, but he didn’t look away from Aziraphale and he didn’t say anything.

“I have water here for you,” Aziraphale offered, gesturing to the table.

At his movement Crowley whimpered and flinched again, eyes somehow widening but still not looking away.

Panic stirred in the angel’s stomach. “Do… do you know who I am?” he asked weakly.

Another strangled sound left Crowley and the demon nodded minutely, shaking violently now. “P-please,” he whispered, voice so hoarse Aziraphale almost didn’t understand him. It was a miracle the demon could speak at all, given how he sounded.

“What?”

“Don’t hurt me again,” Crowley whimpered, shrinking further back against the wall. “I won’t look away, I _won’t_, I promise!”

“Look away? Why would I hurt you? I- I got you out of Hell, Crowley, you’re safe.” Aziraphale wanted to reach for his friend again, but didn’t dare. “You’re safe here.”

Crowley’s head slowly turned, though he held eye contact with the angel. For the briefest moment his gaze flicked to the open bedroom door and back, gasps coming faster as if he expected some sort of punishment. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he whispered with each breath.

“Papa Fell,” Nora’s voice came quietly from the doorway.

Aziraphale turned. Both his godchildren were standing there, watching them.

“Can we talk to you?”

Aziraphale’s mouth was open to protest again, but Crowley was still cowering against the wall – away from _him_. His teeth clicked shut and he nodded, casting a glance at the demon as he left. Crowley flinched under his gaze.

Nora patted his back, gave Jeremy a pointed look, and walked into the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Jeremy pulled Aziraphale away so he couldn’t see inside. “He’s going to have PTSD,” he whispered to the angel. 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “But he-”

“Just let Nora talk to him. You were scaring him.”

The angel wanted to argue, to tell his godson he was wrong, and Crowley would never fear him, but the demon’s expression was still plastered to the back of his eyelids. He nodded instead.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t know me, but you met my mother,” he could hear Nora saying, her voice gentle. “Anathema Device. She stopped Armageddon with you; do you remember?”

There was a long silence, and then: “Book girl.”

“That’s right.” Aziraphale could hear Nora’s smile. “I’m her daughter, Nora, and my brother Jeremy is just outside. He’ll come in a minute, if that’s okay?”

“Let’s go,” Jeremy murmured, gripping Aziraphale’s arm and urging him away. “Can you help Arthur pack Bran up? They need to leave tonight.”

“But-”

“Papa,” Jeremy interrupted, voice firm but patient. “Let Nora calm him down. He’s afraid. I’m sure you can talk to him soon.”

Aziraphale relented and allowed himself to be guided to the front door and ushered out.

“I’ll come get you if anything happens, okay?” Jeremy promised.

“Right,” the angel murmured, reluctantly making his way next door. “Right.”

Arthur and Bran were long gone and Annie in bed by the time Jeremy returned to tell Aziraphale he could go home. It was odd, being told he was allowed to return to his own home by his godson, but thinking about it required a far more in-depth look at his mental state than Aziraphale cared to take at the moment.

Nora was waiting in the kitchen with a mug of tea for each of them. She gestured for Aziraphale to sit. He did, and the Device-Pulsifer children joined him at the table.

“We’ve managed to get him to understand we want to help him,” Nora began, “but he’s still really skittish. He’s very fragile right now.”

Aziraphale started to say something, but she held up her hand to cut him off.

“I don’t think you should see him.”

“Why not?” the angel spluttered.

Nora’s face twisted, like she was eating something sour. “From what I could gather, he thinks that you…” she winced. “He thinks you were part of it. That you were in Hell, hurting him.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “But- but I wasn’t!”

“_We_ know that,” Jeremy said, “but _he_ doesn’t. All we can figure is they used your image while they tortured him, but we don’t know for sure. We don’t want to press him.”

The tiny bud of hope that had been growing in Aziraphale’s chest was suddenly crushed. Now it made sense, why Beelzebub had let him go so easily. They knew that the angel wouldn’t be getting him back; not really. Not when they’d poisoned Crowley against him.

“Papa? Calm down,” Nora said, hand resting on top of Aziraphale’s. He realized he was shaking. “We’ll work with him. Just… respect his boundaries,” she sighed, leaning back. “Just while we work with him.”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath and nodded, not trusting his voice.

The siblings looked relieved. 

“Either Jeremy or I will be here at all times,” Nora promised, “and I’ll bring Annie over to introduce her tomorrow.”

Aziraphale nodded again and slowly stood.

“Where are you going?” Nora asked.

The angel looked at her, numb. “To sleep,” he said dully.

She shared a concerned look with her brother but neither protested.

“Wake me if anything changes,” he said, then ascended the stairs, careful to stay out of Crowley’s line of sight on his way to his bedroom. He cleared the dust from his bed with a wave, changing into pajamas with the same gesture. He toppled under the covers and buried his face in his pillow.

Crowley would be alright. He _had_ to be alright. They would fix him up and everything was going to be okay. If they couldn’t…

He would kill every last demon in Hell if he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting), [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe), or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/flywolf33/)!
> 
> Love y'all!


	4. The Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a shit day, so here's some fun for you. And by fun I mean pain. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much to Brickosaur for the beta!

Another new routine was set. Aziraphale slept most of the time, much to Nora’s chagrin. He overheard Jeremy telling her to let him be, that the angel was just depressed.

“Angels can’t get depressed… can they?”

“Mum said this is how he was until you were born,” the young man had pointed out.

“But she said he didn’t sleep. He _doesn’t_ sleep! The only time he dozes off is when he’s _bored_!” Nora argued.

Rather than get up and deal with it and because he was irritated their arguing woke him up, Aziraphale snapped and his door slammed shut. There was a tense quiet outside, then more whispering that he couldn’t make out.

When he wasn’t sleeping, Aziraphale was helping Annie with her schoolwork or puttering around the house, fretting. He checked on Crowley – through Nora, of course – every day, even if it was the only thing he got out of bed for. 

Nora woke him insistently one night, maybe three days after he’d returned, panicked. “There are two men standing on the walk outside, just staring in,” she whispered. “I- I don’t think they’re human.”

Aziraphale was suddenly fully awake and shot out of bed, miracling himself dressed as he scooped up his sword and strode from the house, telling Nora to stay inside and call Eric to have him do the same.

She was right; standing on the sidewalk just beyond his wards were Gabriel and Sandalphon. Aziraphale bristled, pausing just outside the door for only a moment to check his wards were still intact – they hadn’t been touched – before confidently making his way across the garden to face them. He was careful to stay on his side of the protective barrier he’d created.

“Gabriel,” he said coldly. “Sandalphon.”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted, eyeing the air between them as if he could _see_ the wards themselves – which, Aziraphale realized, he probably could, since he was an Archangel. His eyes moved to the Principality’s face. “You’ve used an extraordinary amount of miracle power this week.”

“And? Why does Heaven care?”

“Well, you have quite the protective dome over these… dwellings. We just want to ensure our deal is still in effect?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’m not stupid enough to think I could face Heaven.”

The Archangel raised an eyebrow. “You were stupid enough to think you could face Hell,” he said, tone almost conversational.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” his eyes narrowed. “I got what I wanted. You have nothing to worry about.”

Gabriel looked pointedly to the flaming sword, still sheathed, hanging from the Principality’s hand. 

Aziraphale glanced down at it but said nothing.

Gabriel sighed. “Look, the only reason we’re not all here beating down your door is because things have been quiet the last half century and Hell broke their end first.” He seemed to notice Aziraphale’s surprise because he continued. “Oh yes, we know about that. Beelzebub came whining to us that you stormed in there and smote a roomful of demons and left a hole in the ceiling. You needn’t worry; we told them you don’t work for us anymore and it’s not our job to babysit you.”

“You… _knew_?” Fury was swelling in Aziraphale again and he gripped the sword tighter. He had no delusions he could take Gabriel, but maybe Sandalphon…

“Whoa now, calm down, calm down,” Gabriel raised his hands placatingly. “We only found out they took your demon when they came crying.”

Aziraphale eyed his former superior suspiciously, but he didn’t detect any dishonesty in his face. The Archangel was never one for outright lies anyway.

“I’m not interested in fighting,” Aziraphale reiterated, relaxing his grip on his sword again.

Gabriel clapped his hands together loudly. “Excellent! We’ll leave you be, then. Just try not to drain too much Heavenly power at once, alright? We do have to maintain appearances.”

Then they were gone.

The demon’s body was healing the human way – slowly – and Nora said Crowley’s essence was steadily recovering as well.

“Once his powers are back he’ll be able to finish healing most of it pretty quickly,” she assured him. 

He still refused to see Aziraphale.

“He really likes Annie and Bran,” Nora told him over dinner one night two months after Crowley arrived. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly hungry, but his godchildren made him eat at least once a week.

The angel allowed himself a small chuckle. “He always was fond of kids. You should have seen his face when he realized…” he faltered.

“What?”

“When the Flood happened. You should have seen his face when he realized the Almighty was going to drown the kids.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He ended up sneaking at least fifty of them onto the Ark, claiming he was just thwarting Heaven’s plans.”

“What did _you_ do?”

“Nothing, of course,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I wasn’t about to kick a bunch of _children_ off the boat. I helped hide them from Noah and told Crowley he was rather nice. He hit me,” Aziraphale laughed.

Nora’s eyebrows rose. “He… _hit_ you?”

The angel was still chortling as he finally looked up from his plate. “Oh yes; quite hard, too. Tossed me back into the wall. I do believe that was the first time he pinned me against a wall, in fact…” he mused, going back to poking at his pasta.

Color tinged Nora’s cheeks and she let out a quiet cough. “Did he do that often? Pin you against the wall?”

“Not like you’re thinking, my dear, but every couple centuries or so, yes. Mostly whenever I told him he was good or nice. Then there was one time I told his plants they were pretty…”

“You told his plants they were pretty.”

Aziraphale nodded. “He prefers to yell at them. To… how did he put it? To ‘put the fear of himself’ into them?” his shoulder twitched. “He says it makes them grow better.”

Nora didn’t respond and Aziraphale looked up again to find her staring at him with such warm _affection_ it made him jump. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

“Oh Papa,” she sighed, “you really are in love with him, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale swallowed, heart pounding. It took him a moment to find his voice again. “Hopelessly,” he murmured without breaking eye contact.

She smiled gently, reached across the table to pat his hand, and stood up. “If you’re just going to pick at your food I might as well clean up.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale leaned back, moving his hands so she could take his plate to the sink. “Why don’t I clean up tonight, dear? You can head home and spend some time with Annie and Eric. I’ll just make some tea and head to bed.”

Nora eyed him warily. “You’ll be okay?”

“Of course, dear,” he shook his head, tutting. “I’m not _helpless_.”

“I know,” she gave him a hug once he’d stood. “Annie will be over in about an hour to sit with Crowley for a bit.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll be in bed by then; I’ll make sure to close my door. Goodnight, Nora.”

“Goodnight, Papa,” Nora gave him a peck on the cheek and left.

Aziraphale sighed and put the kettle on before moving to the sink to start washing up from dinner. He could always miracle everything clean, but he’d gotten so used to pretending to be human it was relaxing for him to wash by hand.

He was just finishing the first plate when he heard the floor creak behind him. Startled, Aziraphale’s head snapped up to see Crowley standing in the doorway. They held eye contact for a moment, the demon looking as if he was ready to bolt, before Aziraphale very calmly returned his gaze to what he was doing.

He moved slowly but tried to maintain a relaxed posture, not wanting to frighten Crowley away. He saw the demon inch into the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, but as soon as he was in the angel’s periphery he stopped and leaned against the wall, just watching him with his arms folded nervously.

Aziraphale finished washing the dishes just as the kettle was beginning to boil and he reached for a mug. “Tea?” he offered, voice quiet.

There was a moment of hesitation, then Crowley shook his head.

Aziraphale got down a mug for himself. “If you changed your mind,” he gestured to the cabinet, “you’re welcome to it.”

Crowley still didn’t respond and Aziraphale tried not to be disappointed. He fixed his tea and turned to leave through the far door. “The house is yours,” he said. “I’ll be in bed if you need anything before Annie gets here.”

“Wait.”

Aziraphale stopped but didn’t turn around.

“You…”

Aziraphale very slowly turned in place to face the demon, who was still staring at him but had taken a couple steps towards him. He looked better; the normal color had returned to what skin Aziraphale could see, though it was marred by a myriad of scars and healing cuts. His hair had grown back, though it was still ragged. He was shivering.

“Are you cold?” the angel asked.

Crowley shook his head.

“You don’t have to look at me, if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale said, though it hurt him. “If I… if I make you uncomfortable.”

The demon’s eyes widened a fraction and he dropped his eyes, flinching slightly as he did so. When nothing else happened, he swallowed and glanced back up. “Can we sit?” he gestured to the table.

Nodding, the angel carefully took a seat and placed his mug on the table before him.

“You were in Hell,” Crowley said after settling into the chair opposite him. It was a tentative statement; almost more a question.

“Twice,” Aziraphale said. “Once as-”

“Me,” Crowley interrupted.

The angel nodded. “Once as you, and the other was just recently, when I got you out.”

Crowley nodded thoughtfully, staring at his hands, which were clasped on the table. “We slept together.”

_That_ was certainly not what Aziraphale had been expecting. Color crept up his neck. “Yes,” he said again. “Once.”

“Do you remember the fight?”

“I remember all our fights,” Aziraphale told him gently, “and I regret every single one of them. I always have.”

Crowley glanced up at him again, acusing. “You said it was a mistake,” he said. “You said you didn’t want me around.”

Aziraphale winced. “I was lying.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid,” the angel admitted. “I was afraid if Heaven and Hell knew… they wouldn’t leave us be after all. So much had changed that week, and that was… one thing too much, I think.”

Crowley considered him, though Aziraphale didn’t look up from his tea. “You didn’t look for me.”

This got his attention. The angel’s gaze snapped up to meet Crowley’s. “I did,” he said firmly, silently cursing himself as his friend flinched at his tone. “I did,” he repeated, softer, “but not as soon as I should have.”

Crowley was silent a moment, eyes closed as he took several deep breaths before his hands unclenched. “How long?”

“It took me two weeks to go to your flat to apologize. You weren’t there and I figured you left the country, so I left a note. After that…” his eyes dropped back to his tea, shame washing over him. His next words were so soft, he wondered if Crowley would even catch them. “Two years.”

Silence fell over them and Aziraphale didn’t dare look up to see what Crowley’s expression might be. “I’m so sorry,” the angel said at last. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

Crowley was still silent, and Aziraphale risked a glance. The demon wore an expectant expression.

“What?”

“I’m waiting for you to ask my forgiveness,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale felt his eyes grow wide and face pale as she shook his head. “I would never ask for that.”

“Why?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You were in Hell, and I was _sleeping_. It’s unforgiveable.”

The demon considered this for a moment, then stood up. Aziraphale’s stomach dropped, thinking his friend was going to leave, but Crowley merely poured a glass of water and sat back down. He didn’t drink from it; just wrapped both hands tightly around the base and stared into it.

“But you looked later.” His eyes flicked up.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Tell me.”

So Aziraphale did. He told Crowley about how he’d slept for two years, with his only regular visits from Anathema and Madam Tracy to serve as interruptions; how he’d bought the Bentley when the flat’s auction occurred, and he knew Crowley wasn’t coming back on his own. He told him about traveling the world and finding nothing and thinking he’d wounded Crowley so badly that for once his words had been true: he was leaving and he wouldn’t see him again.

Crowley was a good listener. He didn’t say much; only asked the occasional question. When Aziraphale said he’d recovered the Bentley, the demon lit up, but didn’t interrupt.

Aziraphale heard when Annie came in and was aware of her standing in the doorway behind him, but she didn’t say anything and neither beings in the kitchen acknowledged her other than Crowley’s glance up. She stood quietly, listening to stories about her mother and grandmother she’d probably never heard. After a while she disappeared into the sitting room and didn’t come back.

The tea was long cold by the time Aziraphale finished, explaining how he’d seen Hastur in Soho and smote him once he realized the truth of Crowley’s whereabouts. How they’d retrieved his sword – which was currently leaning against the wall next to Aziraphale’s bed – and the angel had marched into Hell through the front door to get him.

Crowley remained quiet as Aziraphale finished, fidgeting with his water glass. The sound of a page turning from the other room was clearly audible; apparently Annie had decided to read. “So when Anathema and Newt died… where were you?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I don’t know where I was at that exact moment, but I-”

“You weren’t there.” Crowley looked up. “Your friends needed you and you weren’t there. Just like you weren’t there for me.”

The angel reeled back as if physically struck. The truth of the statement was sharp as a knife stabbing through him. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came.

“Are you ever where you’re supposed to be?”

The book closed in the other room.

Aziraphale cast about for a response, some sort of defense, but nothing came. He couldn’t even lift his eyes from the point on the floor somewhere to his left. Guilt wracked him, fresh as the day he’d returned to find them gone. All off them. Crowley, Anathema, Newt, Bran… they’d all needed him, and he’d been off in his own little selfish world.

Tears welled in his eyes and he closed his mouth. He was undefendable.

“Papa Fell,” Annie said from the doorway again, causing both beings to look up at her. She stood straight, eyes burning, and Aziraphale feared she was about to attack him too. “You’re here now,” she said defiantly. “That’s all that matters. You tried, and maybe you didn’t always succeed and maybe sometimes you were in the wrong place, but nobody’s perfect. Not even angels.” Her eyes slid over to Crowley. “He was out looking for _you_ when they died. I don’t blame him for not being there. I don’t blame _you_ for him not being there. I never got to know my nan or pap, but I get to have Papa Fell, and that’s more than good enough.”

Aziraphale’s lips trembled as he stared at his goddaughter. For being only sixteen, she was quite the old soul, not unlike the grandmother she shared a name with.

Nobody moved for several moments, and Annie’s face softened. “Go to bed, Papa. Crowley promised to help me with my astronomy board.”

The angel smiled. “You’ve got the right brain on the job,” he said softly as he stood. He glanced back at the demon, who was staring down into his lap again, face blank. “Goodnight,” he offered before hugging Annie, kissing the top of her head, and ascending the stairs to his room.

Despite its ending, it wasn’t a bad first conversation. It certainly could have gone much worse.

“At least he could look at me without flinching,” Aziraphale murmured to himself as he changed into his pajamas and slid under the blankets.

It was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's still trying to make sense of things...
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Comments make my day go 'round!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. The Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update tomorrow, but I realized it's Thanksgiving so I thought I'd update today instead. If I have time tomorrow to sit in front of my computer, I might update again anyway as a treat!
> 
> Huge thanks to Brickosaur for the beta! 
> 
> This chapter was fun to write.
> 
> Songs that appear in this are _You're my Best Friend_ and _Love of my Life_.

Aziraphale slept the next two days. When he woke up, he mostly kept to himself; as much as Nora would allow him to. He wouldn’t admit it if asked, but he was actively avoiding Crowley. While their conversation could have gone worse, it didn’t go as he’d hoped, either, and even though the demon hadn’t said anything Aziraphale hadn’t said to himself, it still hurt.

Avoiding Crowley had become much more difficult, since the demon was up and moving around now. He still hadn’t left the house, but he’d taken to puttering about in the kitchen and the sitting room, looking through the cabinets and books. The angel didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was clearly looking for _something_.

There was one benefit: Aziraphale had been able to slip into Crowley’s room and install a skylight so the demon could watch the stars. The view from out here was far better than what they got in Soho, and Aziraphale knew how much his friend loved the night sky.

Aziraphale was reading in his study when there came a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, assuming it was Annie, who was supposed to be over that night.

It was Crowley, standing awkwardly in the doorway fidgeting and staring determinedly at his hands.

A lump formed in the angel’s throat. “What can I do for you?” he asked, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“I would like the keys to my Bentley,” Crowley said without looking up.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t seen it in half a century,” he explained. “I’d like to take it for a drive.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It’s not safe.”

Crowley looked up finally, glaring. “Am I trapped here? Am I not allowed to leave?”

“Of course you can leave,” Aziraphale said, “it’s just not a good idea. Hell’s angry I took you and I don’t know if they’re waiting for one of us to leave or if they’ve given up. And with your powers still not fully restored yet…”

Crowley’s pupil’s contracted. “I get it.” He looked away again, jaw working. There was a long silence. “You could come with me.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Do you want me to?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not really,” Crowley said, “but it seems like the best option.”

The Principality tried not to show how much that hurt and instead set aside his book. “Alright. Let me grab my jacket.”

Crowley waited for him by the front door and they walked out together. Aziraphale handed over the keys. It was bittersweet; he was glad to be returning the Bentley to its rightful driver, but he’d grown accustomed to caring for it. Maybe he ought to get a car of his own.

The car purred to life, a much warmer sound than it had ever given Aziraphale.

“_Oh, you make me live, whatever this world can give to me-”_ The stereo burst to life.

Crowley smiled, running his hands over the wheel and across the dash. “She missed me,” he murmured.

_I missed you too,_ Aziraphale thought, but swallowed the words as he settled into the passenger seat and tried to make himself as small as possible. Crowley didn’t want him here, so if he tried to pretend not to exist, then he could give the demon the time with his car he wanted.

Aziraphale only barely remembered to part the warding on time for them to exit the driveway without essentially hitting a wall. It closed back up after them, power thrumming in their wake as Crowley immediately hit the gas. The angel had to close his eyes and hope they didn’t hit anyone; except for the time he’d hit Anathema, Crowley had been good about keeping it to close calls.

Queen happily bubbled along as they drove, going nowhere in particular that Aziraphale could tell. He stayed quiet, watching the road and occasionally sneaking peeks at Crowley from the corner of his eye. The demon seemed… content. Happy, even. He was the most relaxed he’d been since returning from Hell.

Eventually Crowley parked at a scenic overlook and sat back, turning off the car and staring out over the water. Aziraphale held his breath, not even daring to move for fear of breaking this peaceful moment.

“Thank you,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale started. “For what?”

The demon’s shoulder twitched. “For keeping the Bentley. And the skylight.”

“You’re welcome.” He bit back the ‘my dear’ that automatically tried to come out.

“And…” Crowley’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before fully relaxing and falling into his lap. “And for coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, finally daring to look up at the demon. He swallowed. “I… I know it’s probably not what you need to hear right now, but… I. um.”

Crowley gave him a flat look. He had yet to start wearing sunglasses again and Aziraphale could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“I do love you,” the angel finally said. “I do. I’ve done an awful job of showing it and I understand… I understand that you hate me now and that’s okay.”

It really, _really_ wasn’t, but that was a problem for another day.

Aziraphale continued, not giving the stunned demon the chance to speak yet. “If you want to leave, really leave and never come back, then… I won’t hold it against you. I won’t seek you out, so long as I can feel that you’re here, on earth. I just ask that you wait to go until you’re fully recovered, so you’re safe. After that, you never have to see me again.”

The words hurt; they hurt in a way that made Aziraphale wonder if there was blood dripping from his lips. His throat felt raw and his eyes were hot. He looked away from the demon, back out to the ocean, and tried to blink back his tears.

It took Crowley a long time to say anything. “Is that what you want?” he asked, voice conflicted.

“No!” Aziraphale said, twisting back to face Crowley. “Of course not! But it’s not about what I want.”

Crowley stared at him, face twisted into an expression Aziraphale couldn’t identify. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to anyway. “I know I loved you, once,” he said slowly. “From the moment you said you gave away your sword… then that fight, and Hell…” he trailed away, looking troubled. “I don’t know anymore.”

Aziraphale’s chest hurt. He wasn’t sure he could breathe even if he wanted to right now. He just nodded and looked away again, clenching his jaw. He belatedly realized his hands were balled into fists on his legs and forced them to relax.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sunset without saying another word. Once the sky was black and the first stars were coming out, Crowley started the Bentley and began driving home.

“_Love of my life, you’ve hurt me, you’ve broken my heart and now you leave me,”_ the soft music coming from the speakers was quite possibly the quietest song by Queen Aziraphale had ever heard, and it was the first time he cursed the car itself.

“_Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know what it means to me…”_

Aziraphale didn’t fully look over at Crowley, but he could see the demon’s hands tighten on the steering wheel in his periphery.

_“Love of my life, don’t leave me… you’ve stolen my love, now you desert me; love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back… Don’t take it away from me…_”

_Please stop,_ Aziraphale thought, though the Bentley had always played what it wanted and never listened to him.

The Bentley didn’t stop, and the angel was resolutely staring out his window so Crowley couldn’t see the tears in his eyes, and the few that rebelliously slid down his cheeks.

By the time they pulled back into the drive, Aziraphale had gotten control of his face. “Um, the wards are up so if you ever want to leave, just let me know and I’ll lower them,” he said quietly without fully looking up as he stepped out of the car.

Nora appeared then, running across her front garden. “Where have you two been?”

Aziraphale jumped at her sudden approach, but Crowley beat him to an answer. “I just wanted to take the Bentley for a drive.”

Nora visibly relaxed. “Alright. We just weren’t expecting you to be gone.”

“Sorry my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I should have left a note.”

Crowley scoffed and looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets instead of saying whatever was on his mind. Nora frowned at him but didn’t say anything either. Instead, she examined Aziraphale’s face and her expression faded to concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Aziraphale turned his face away and fidgeted. “Tickety-boo,” he mumbled, though he knew she wouldn’t buy it. “Anyway,” he said much louder, “I’ll be getting to bed, I think. I might be a few days so don’t worry about me.”

Nora’s concern grew, but Aziraphale miracled himself into his room before she could say anything and locked the door. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands with a moan. He was awful at this. He desperately wanted to fix things with Crowley, but he didn’t know how, or even if he _could_. Aziraphale felt like everything he tried only made things worse.

A shuddering sob heaved its way up his chest and he sank to the ground against his wall. He didn’t want Crowley to vanish again; not now that he finally had him back, tenuous as it was. He didn’t want Crowley to hate him. He didn’t want a lot of things. But if he knew Crowley was alive and well, as long as he could _sense_ him somewhere on the planet, he thought he could bear it. He had already survived the last fifty years thinking Crowley was angry enough to completely hide his presence.

Knowing it was a different kind of hurt, though.

He heard voices downstairs as Crowley and Nora entered and he held his breath. There was a knock at the door, then the doorknob wiggled. Aziraphale remained still as Nora tried to call to him, pleading with him to open the door.

He kept ignoring her.

When he was sure she’d walked away, he let out the breath and the sobs returned with it. Aziraphale didn’t have it in him to care. He managed to drag himself to his bed and curl up, sobbing under the covers long into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting), [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe), or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/flywolf33/)!


	6. The Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery isn't just an uphill battle, but a roller coaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so.... Gonna warn you now... when Brickosaur beted this one, they kind of yelled at me... they were pretty upset... 
> 
> This chapter has graphic depictions of violence. If you're easily upset, wait a few days for the next update to read this one. I'll be nice and update the next chapter tomorrow, in fact, because this one... this is gnarly.
> 
> I'm actually sorry about this one. Kind of.

Crowley seemed less afraid of him now and didn’t seem to mind being in the same room as the angel, though he rarely spoke to him. Aziraphale, for his part, had stopped his active avoidance of his friend – whom he still thought of as such – and had returned to his normal routine.

Before they knew it, the schoolyear had ended and Annie was spending most of her time with the beings, trying to force them to interact more than they already did and chaperoning any trips Crowley wanted to make.

“Annie’s going to leave next week,” Nora told Aziraphale as the pair watched the teenager try and fail to explain to Crowley he shouldn’t yell at their garden plants. “She’s going to America for a school trip and she’ll be gone the rest of the summer.”

“America?” Aziraphale said, alarmed. “What on earth for?”

Nora shrugged. “I guess NASA is doing a summer program for high school students and she got in.” She gave him a wry smile. “Crowley’s got her hooked on space.”

The angel couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched the demon fondly. “He helped build the stars,” he said.

“So you’ve said, many times.”

Aziraphale flashed his eldest goddaughter an apologetic glance. “Does that mean Jeremy and Bran will be visiting more?”

Nora shook her head. “I don’t think so. He still has work and Bran still wants to enjoy his summers with his friends. Eric and I will be over as much as we can, but Crowley’s recovery has come so far I don’t think one of us needs to be there constantly, especially with him accepting your presence now.”

A small pit formed in the angel’s stomach. He had to admit he’d grown used to having one of his charges present and used them a bit as a buffer between himself and his demon. Even so, he nodded minutely. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“If either of you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Aziraphale was cooking when it happened.

Nora or Annie usually brought them something to eat on Saturdays, but Aziraphale found himself craving crepes earlier in the week and didn’t want to bother his goddaughter.

Crowley had just entered the kitchen to watch Aziraphale mix the batter, leaning against the counter beside the fridge. Aziraphale set the bowl aside and pulled the cutting board – piled high with strawberries – towards himself. He retrieved his knife from the drawer.

There was a strangled whining sound from his right, and suddenly Aziraphale was thrown back, the knife clattering to the floor. He slammed into the table, overturning it and scattering the chairs. He was pretty sure the wood splintered under the impact. His head knocked against something and he saw stars.

Struggling to gather his wits and figure out what just happened, Aziraphale didn’t notice Crowley stalking towards him. By the time his blurry vision focused enough realize the demon had picked up the knife, Crowley had one hand wrapped around his throat and was hoisting him into the air to slam him against the wall. Some disconnected part of the angel’s brain noted that Crowley was much stronger than he looked.

Aziraphale’s head knocked back again, lights exploding behind his eyes.

“No,” Crowley growled, “not again. I won’t let you.”

Aziraphale’s feet dangled several inches above the floor and he reached up to grip Crowley’s wrist with one hand and the demon’s shoulder with the other, searching for any semblance of stability to relieve the pressure on his throat. It was with startling panic that the angel realized the grip was strong enough to cut off his air supply. He didn’t need it, but with the way his head was spinning his body began to pulse with fear.

There was a wild look in Crowley’s eyes, and Aziraphale realized the demon wasn’t all there. Aziraphale glanced between the knife and his friend’s face and connected the dots. “No,” he choked out, “I wasn’t going to- the fruit-”

Crowley snarled and squeezed harder, cutting off the angel’s words. “_Never_ again.” The tip of the knife pressed against Aziraphale’s chest and he ceased his weak movements.

He tried to swallow but turns out you can’t do _that_ with someone trying to crush your throat either. 

Suddenly the panic was replaced with calm and he looked Crowley deep in the eyes and managed to force out more words. “It’s okay. You can do it.”

The knife wouldn’t kill him, though it would result in a rather unpleasant discorporation. He wondered if Heaven would be so annoyed with his presence, they would give him a new one or if they’d just cast him out to wander bodiless for the rest of eternity. He remembered the draining feeling of being a wisp. Maybe if he went long enough without a corporation, he would simply cease to exist.

It would be better than a life without Crowley.

The demon glared at him and ripped the knife down. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he jerked in pain as his stomach was slashed open. Fortunately it wasn’t a deep enough wound to hit any proper organs; there was something to be said for being a little soft after all.

Crowley released the angel, who slumped to the floor, gasping. He grasped at his stomach and leaned halfway against the wall, dizzy with pain. He was aware of Crowley straddling him, still wielding the bloody knife. He yanked Aziraphale’s head back by his hair and rested the tip of the blade on the underside of the angel’s chin. “Look at me.”

Aziraphale did.

“Fight back,” he commanded.

“No,” Aziraphale said, voice hoarse.

The demon pressed harder and Aziraphale felt it pierce skin. “Fight. Back.”

“I won’t.”

Crowley very slowly dragged the blade down the center of the angel’s throat, only deep enough to leave a small trail of blood in its wake. Aziraphale was unable to bite back a groan, trembling with want to push the demon away – he knew he could easily overpower him – but resisted. His eyes fluttered closed, they snapped back open in shock as Crowley punched his face, the skin of his cheek splitting.

“Look at me,” he snarled.

Aziraphale was trying.

“Fight back!”

“No!”

Hissing, the demon released Aziraphale’s hair and slapped him across the face, hard enough to slam his head back into the wall again. His head was pounding in time to his heartbeat now. He was beginning to get spots in his vision, but whether it was from head trauma or blood loss he wasn’t sure.

He tried to focus on the demon, but he wasn’t fast enough in returning his gaze and earned himself a broken nose. “Look at me!”

Aziraphale had to lean his head back against the wall to keep it up, but he did as he was told.

“_Fight back!_” Crowley was shrieking now, the noise piercing Aziraphale’s aching head like daggers of their own.

“No.” His mouth tasted like blood and cotton.

Crowley looked lost. “Fight back,” he said again, this time almost whispering.

“I refuse to hurt you,” Aziraphale moaned, struggling to maintain his focus on the demon. His eyes were already half closed. “Not even in defense of myself.”

The demon looked confused for only a moment before fury overtook his face and with a roar drove the knife into Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel cried out, though he couldn’t get enough breath to properly scream.

It wasn’t big enough to go all the way through, but it was enough to bite into bone.

The edges of Aziraphale’s vision were tinging black, but given his demanded attention, he still saw when Crowley’s face went blank and he blinked before surveying his work with growing horror. He scrambled backwards off the angel, chest heaving. “No no no no no,” he whispered, leaning back forward and tentatively reaching for Aziraphale, hesitant to touch him. “What have I done?”

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale wheezed, eyes struggling to stay open. He wasn’t sure if he would be punished for looking away still.

Crowley’s gaze flicked up to the angel’s face and he paled. “What do I do?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “If I can focus…”

The demon was panicking now, shaking as he cast about for something to help Aziraphale. He dashed from the room and when he returned he was on the phone. “Nora! I need your help, I don’t know what happened; I did… I don’t remember! You need to come over; I think he’s dying!” he was shouting.

“Can you not…” Aziraphale winced as he coughed, “shout?”

“I’m so sorry,” Crowley knelt back down beside the angel and his eyes landed on the knife still lodged in his shoulder. “Do I… should I pull it out?”

Aziraphale shook his head and immediately regretted it. 

Had night fallen? He could have sworn it was still early afternoon when he’d started cooking.

There was a faint slamming sound and Nora was suddenly there, face swimming before Aziraphale. Her eyes were wide as she tried to get the angel’s attention, but Aziraphale really wasn’t sure what she was saying.

Something was pressing on his stomach, but if it hurt Aziraphale wasn’t aware of it. He felt numb all over and very cold. He knew that was a very bad sign.

Is this what dying felt like?

Aziraphale came to in his bed, head pounding and body aching. The room was too bright, and he squinted against it, slowly smacking his lips. His mouth was incredibly dry, and swallowing was difficult. Something cold touched his forehead and he jumped, then groaned.

“Oh thank God you’re awake!”

Aziraphale rolled his head to see Nora sitting beside the bed. The cold thing was a damp cloth she was currently using to dab his face. Here eyes were red and puffy, cheeks blotched red. She sniffed. “Can you heal yourself?”

He tried to concentrate on the throbbing in his stomach and felt the distinct uncomfortable sensation of flesh knitting back together, but the pain didn’t completely fade. None of his other wounds seemed to have been affected at all, but at least the worst one was partially dealt with.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over the angel and he sighed. “That should stop the bleeding until my head clears more,” he said, voice straining against the aching in his throat.

Aziraphale was suddenly aware of a second person in the room. 

Crowley was standing at the foot of the bed, fidgeting in place and staring at him. Blood stained the entire front of his shirt and up his sleeves. He looked to have at least washed his hands. He was shaking. When he realized Aziraphale was looking at him, he dropped his gaze and shifted in place. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale sighed, sinking back into his pillows, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Nothing to-” Nora started indignantly. “He nearly killed you!”

“He wasn’t in his right mind,” the angel said. He’d lived through every war; more specifically, the World Wars, in which PTSD became far more obvious to him. He looked back at Crowley, blinking tiredly. “I suppose it was the knife?”

The demon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and nodded, still not looking back up.

“But you’ve been in the room while I’ve cooked many times, and I always have a knife of some kind,” Nora said.

“_You_ didn’t torture me in Hell,” Crowley told her, voice faint, and refusing to look up.

“Neither did he!”

“But they made me think he did.”

“It’s okay, Nora,” Aziraphale said again. “Crowley,” he waited for his friend to look at him, “I forgive you.”

The demon flinched slightly, hands clenching into each other, and looked away again. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so; I just… need some rest. Once my head clears, I can finish healing.”

Crowley nodded, then glanced up at Nora. “I’ll just… I’ll go then.” He backed out of the room.

“You’re really going to be okay?” Nora asked.

“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I’m going to sleep for a while.”

“I’ll be here, Papa.”

Aziraphale hummed his acknowledgement, though it hurt his throat to do so, and slipped back into sleep.

When he woke several days later, head clear enough to fully heal himself and finally get rid of the concussion, Crowley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew.... I promise things are going to get better now. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Maybe I'm a masochist but I rather like getting yelled at in the comments so let 'er rip.
> 
> Or tell me you loved it, because that's life too.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'll see you tomorrow!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting), [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe), or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/flywolf33/)!


	7. The Repossession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale made a promise, and now he has to keep it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the new chapter today. I decided to get it up before work instead of waiting until I get home, so here you go!
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last one; I honestly expected more yelling, but I'm really glad you all enjoyed it because as painful as it was to write, I did have fun writing it...
> 
> Thank you Brickosaur for the beta!
> 
> Edit: Changed the Alps to the Himalayas. Yes I did this for title reasons. Don't judge me.

After discovering Crowley’s absence and confirming he had indeed _left_ and wasn’t just out for a drive, Aziraphale made sure he could sense the demon on earth – he could – and promptly went back to bed. Some detached part of his brain noted he’d slept more in the last fifty years than he had in the rest of his six thousand years on earth combined.

It was during this time that Aziraphale came to realize he missed his bookshop. He missed the space and the cozy little nooks one could tuck oneself into to read. He even missed the customers and the coming up with different ways to avoid selling his books. More than anything, he missed the simpler times.

Every time she saw him, Nora insisted Crowley left on his own and she was in no way involved – had even tried to get him to stay. She seemed terrified that Aziraphale was going to blame her for the demon’s departure and hate her for it. He insisted he did not; he knew the time was coming, and with the clear show of Crowley’s power’s returning, he really shouldn’t be surprised.

He couldn’t stop his disappointment, though.

Annie called one day, face filling the computer screen and positively beaming as she told her parents all about the cool things she was learning and how she knew more about the farther nebulas than anyone else. “Crowley came to visit last week,” she told them, clearly pleased. “He helped me with one of my assignments and then took me out to stargaze where there was no light pollution. It’s really cool that he can teleport; why don’t _you_ do that more, Papa?” she continued without pausing to let Aziraphale answer. “He’s looking like he’s doing really well, and he didn’t even seem tired after using his powers. He did seem pretty upset about something, but I didn’t push; I figured he was talking to mum about it and I didn’t want to ruin the visit.

“My friends all asked who he was, so I told them he was my uncle and he’s an astronomy professor. He totally went with it and we have them thoroughly convinced. He bought us lots of sweets, too! I’m sorry I called while he was out; when he gets back will you thank him again for me?” The teenager finally paused for breath, and there was something on all their faces that caused her to stop. “What’s wrong?”

The adults shared a look before Nora answered. “Crowley’s left, sweetheart.”

Annie looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“He left, two weeks ago. He didn’t tell you?”

The young girl shook her head. “Why’d he go?”

Nora and Eric both looked at Aziraphale. They’d originally agreed not to say anything to Annie for fear of upsetting her unduly and ruining her trip, but she was directly asking and Aziraphale had never been good at denying his godchildren anything. He nodded at Nora.

“He…” she hesitated, looking back at the camera. Annie was glancing between them, brow furrowing. “He had an episode, and he attacked Aziraphale.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “He _what?”_

“He attacked me,” Aziraphale said, “but I’m alright. It’s okay.”

Nora gave him a scathing look. “It was pretty bad, Annie.”

“But I’m okay now,” Aziraphale insisted, “and I’m not upset with him. He left on his own.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

The adults shared a look again, and this time it was Eric who shook his head. “I don’t think so, sweetie. But if you see him, give him a big hug and tell him we miss him.”

Nora waited until the call was over to berate her husband; she still hadn’t really forgiven Crowley for how close he’d come to discorporating Aziraphale.

Bran’s next visit was shortly after the call, and evidently his fathers had decided not to tell him Crowley was gone either. The boy had run directly to Crowley’s room, brandishing a new rocket ship model he’d finished, and was nearly in tears when he found it empty. Jeremy and Arthur decided they didn’t want Bran to know _why_ Crowley had left; they instead opted to tell their son Crowley was better and wanted to see the world, since fifty years was a long time to be gone.

Aziraphale tried very hard not to spend quite so much time in bed, but none of his books held their usual charm. He felt as though the world had gone grey around him when he hadn’t noticed and now everything tasted like ash.

He managed to stay awake during the day, but Aziraphale slept every night and only woke up when Nora came to get him.

Then, one night shortly after midnight, Aziraphale sat upright in bed. Something was wrong. He cast about to find the source, and it quickly became apparent: Crowley was distressed. His aura was flickering madly in the back of the angel’s mind.

He’d promised not to track him down, but he wouldn’t let Hell take him again.

Aziraphale miracled himself to general vicinity he could feel Crowley in, close enough to get to him without fully alerting the demon to his presence, just in case it wasn’t something he was needed for. 

His fears were confirmed when he heard Dagon’s voice, taunting Crowley.

Blind rage overtook Aziraphale and the next thing he knew, he had the Lord of the Files pinned against a brick wall by her throat and his flaming sword pressed firmly against her stomach. “I thought we had this settled,” he growled.

“So did I,” Beelzebub said from the end of the alley they’d pinned Crowley in. “Then you smote an entire level of demons, and we want our toy back.”

Crowley, who was cowering into a corner on the opposite side of Aziraphale, let out a sound that was likely supposed to be a snarl but came out more a whimper.

“Now, now, Beelzebub,” another voice said, causing all four beings to start. Gabriel appeared behind the Prince of Hell, flanked by Sandalphon, Uriel, and Michael. “We talked about this.”

Beelzebub snarled, but Aziraphale could smell their fear. Dagon wriggled in his grip, but the Principality just pressed his sword against her gut harder and the demon stilled.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted, barely glancing at him, “I see you got your demon back on his feet.”

Aziraphale grunted.

“This is none of your buizzzznezzzz,” Beelzebub snapped to the Archangel.

“You_ made_ it our business when you came crying to us to punish Aziraphale,” Gabriel told them calmly. “We had an agreement: leave the earth agents alone, like they never existed. It’s not my fault you demons aren’t capable of listening, and it’s not my problem that you had to pay the price for it. Again.”

_Low blow,_ Aziraphale thought, watching as Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed and their gaze flicked between the four Archangels. “What are you going to do about it?” they asked.

Gabriel shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just here to… how should I put it… keep the peace. It’s up to Aziraphale.” He looked over to the Principality.

Aziraphale glanced between Crowley, who was still against the far wall and very pointedly _not_ looking at any of them, and Dagon, who was glaring at the Principality holding her hostage, to the group of beings at the opening of the alley.

“Everyone leaves Crowley alone,” he said firmly. “Nobody, demon _or_ angel, is to even _look_ at Crowley, or _think_ about him, or I will kill them.” He applied just enough pressure with his sword to draw a pained cry from Dagon. “_Permanently_.”

“Sounds fair to me!” Gabriel clapped his hands together with a broad grin. “What do you think, Beelz?”

“Don’t call me that,” Beelzebub snapped, then turned to glare at Aziraphale, then Crowley. “Fine. We’ll leave them alone, like they never existed,” they relented, “if you release Dagon.”

Aziraphale scowled but stepped back, tossing the demon towards her boss like she hardly weighed a thing. Dagon stumbled, threw a hiss over her shoulder, and the demons vanished.

“See you around, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, and the Principality was left alone with Crowley.

There was a long moment of silence where Aziraphale didn’t dare turn around. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t follow me,” Crowley said, voice somewhat betrayed.

“And I won’t,” the angel replied, tucking his sword back into its sheath and sending him home with a wave of his hand. He still didn’t turn around. “But I won’t let Hell take you back, either.”

Another long silence, then, quietly, “Thank you.”

Aziraphale finally turned around, but Crowley was already gone.

“You’re going where?”

“I don’t know yet,” Aziraphale said again, tucking the last of his favorite books (he’d limited it to ten this time) into a small bag – the very same the Nazis had used in the church in 1941 – and snapped it closed. “I just need some time.”

“How long?” Nora asked, following Aziraphale as he returned to his bedroom to collect his tartan pajamas and mobile phone.

“Not long; a few months, maybe a year or two. I promise I’ll keep in touch this time.”

His goddaughter, looking incredibly distressed, stood in his doorway and watched him finish packing his single bag. “Won’t you at least wait for Annie to come home? You could take her, or maybe we could all do a holiday-”

“Nora,” Aziraphale said gently, stopping in front of her and setting his back on the floor. “I need some time.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining and lips quivering. “Promise you’ll come back?”

“Oh darling, of course!” He hugged her tightly and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Nora melted into him, inhaling deeply and clutching at the back of his vest, as if afraid he would vanish right out from under her. “I promise to call frequently and let you know where I am. I won’t just disappear.”

Nora sniffed. “You’d better not.”

Aziraphale genuinely didn’t mean to be gone long. He figured once he’d had some time to himself, to think, he would be ready to go back home. He did keep in touch with his godchildren, though sometimes he lost track of time and he went a few months between calls. They started reaching out to him at least once a month, and in that way, he was able to keep track of time.

Three years down and he still didn’t have it in him to return.

He found himself a nice little cabin on the top of a mountain somewhere in the Himalayas. Winter was incoming and several locals from a village further down the peak kept fussing over him, begging him to either stay the winter with them or leave entirely. They’d stocked him up with firewood and blankets and food and _still_ tried to convince him to come down.

He insisted he would be fine.

It was a small cabin; it was only one room, and the only furniture in it was a wood-burning stove in one corner, a small bed in another, and a tiny table pressed up against the window by the door. He kept a stack of firewood stocked next to the stove and the rest of it under a small overhang he’d constructed by hand to protect the wood from the snow on the south-facing side of the building. He’d also built a tiny outhouse a few yards from the cabin, though it was for show, given the angel didn’t fall prey to such human needs.

A snowstorm was beginning to pick up outside, promising to be a big one. Aziraphale double checked his inside wood stash – he was determined to do this the human way as much as he could, though he’d be using a miracle to make sure the wind didn’t damage his house – and set the kettle on.

Somebody knocked at the door, and for a moment Aziraphale wondered if he’d either imagined it or it was the wind. Whoever it was knocked again, and the angel sighed as he got to his feet. He couldn’t believe even the locals would climb all the way up here in this kind of weather. “Really, dear boys,” he said, opening the door, “I am perfectly-” he froze.

It wasn’t the locals.

It was Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting), [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe), or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/flywolf33/)!


	8. The Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short epilogue after this chapter.
> 
> Thank you Brickosaur for your beta!
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think; comments make my day better!
> 
> Enjoy :)

“-safe.”

Aziraphale stared dumbly at the demon standing on his doorstep. Crowley was bundled in a thick coat with a bright red scarf peeking out of the collar. His hat was tucked firmly down over his ears, and he _still_ looked positively frozen. He shuffled his feet, glancing at the steadily growing blizzard behind him, then looked up at Aziraphale. “May I come in?”

The question kickstarted the angel, who jumped. “Oh! Yes, of course, come in!” he bustled out of the way, closing the door against the wailing winds behind the demon. “You, ah, if you want to take your coat off you can hang it by the door there,” Aziraphale gestured to the hooks on the wall, where his own coat and hat were. “I’ve just put the kettle on, if you’d like tea,” he continued, backing away and trying not to stare as Crowley shed his layers.

The demon was looking around the cabin, expression painfully blank. Aziraphale was suddenly incredibly self-conscious about his chosen humble dwelling. He snapped his fingers to make the bed and clear the bits of water he’d tracked across the wood floor earlier that afternoon.

“Tea sounds nice,” Crowley said, voice almost shy. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale miracled another mug and selected a calming tea that always warmed him right up. “How are you?” he finally dared ask, not looking up from his preparations.

Crowley didn’t answer; merely stood in the center of the cabin looking lost.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, noticing the demon’s discomfort. “I usually just sit on the bed, but I can miracle a chair or something-”

“The bed’s fine, angel,” Crowley said quickly, perching on the edge and watching Aziraphale pour the boiling water over the teabags. There was something different about the _way_ he was watching him, but since the demon’s face was still carefully neutral, he couldn’t determine what it was. He tried not to dwell on the fact that Crowley had called him ‘angel’ again.

“I went back to your cottage,” Crowley said as Aziraphale handed him his tea and gingerly sat on the bed. He was careful to sit far enough away to give Crowley his space but not on the complete opposite end. “You weren’t there.”

“I’ve been traveling,” Aziraphale said quietly, staring into his tea. “I couldn’t stay there.”

“Annie was happy to see me,” Crowley continued, “and Bran’s gotten big. They miss you.”

A pang of guilt lanced through him and he tightened his hold on his mug, wondering if Crowley was going to say something about him never being in the right place again.

“Did you mean what you said?” Crowley asked after a long stretch of time wherein the only sound was the screaming wind and rattling of the window.

Aziraphale finally looked up and found the demon gazing at the floor. “Which time?”

He took a deep breath. “When you said you loved me.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and stared at Crowley, wishing he would look up. When the demon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he decided that would have to be good enough. “I did,” he said, “and I do.”

Crowley closed his eyes and swallowed. “Say it again?”

“I love you,” Aziraphale said without hesitation. “More than anything.”

Crowley’s bottom lip trembled, but he didn’t open his eyes. “They used your face, in Hell,” he told him. “You- _he_ – made me watch him while he hurt me. If I looked away from y- _him_, if I closed my eyes or looked somewhere else or even simply couldn’t hold my head up any more, he’d…” he shuddered, then very slowly lifted his shirt to show the mangled skin across his chest where the worst of his wounds had been; the spots that still looked melted. “Holy water,” he finished hoarsely.

Aziraphale gasped. He remembered the way Crowley would stare at him, eyes wide and trembling, the way he’d cried and apologized for glancing at the door, the way he’d cowered back when Aziraphale had first offered him water. “Crowley, I’m- I’m so _sorry_, I-”

The demon held up a hand, and Aziraphale wished he would just _open his eyes_.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, finally looking at the angel. “It wasn’t you.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, belatedly realizing his mouth was hanging open and snapping it shut. Something swelled inside him at the demon’s acknowledgement. “Even so,” he said weakly.

Silence fell over them again, and Aziraphale found he didn’t really care to drink his tea. Crowley hadn’t sipped his either. The angel set his mug aside.

“Why couldn’t you stay there?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took a moment to think about his answer. It was the same reason he’d left the bookshop, but he didn’t think saying ‘you’ was a good idea. “I miss you,” he finally said. “I couldn’t stay in the bookshop because everything reminded me of you being gone, and then when you left the cottage…” he sighed. “I _miss_ you.”

Crowley digested this.

“Our fight,” the demon ventured again, “you said you lied.”

Aziraphale swallowed, wringing his hands and regretting abandoning his tea. “I did.”

“You said it was one thing too much, us… sleeping together.”

Aziraphale nodded, tears pricking at his eyes. “I wanted to follow you, beg you to come back, even then,” he admitted, “but I thought you’d need time to cool off.”

Crowley grimaced. “I regretted leaving as soon as I did. I turned around as soon as I reached my flat, but Hastur got me on the way back.”

_That soon?_

“I’m sorry I let you go,” Aziraphale whispered, looking up. He was surprised to find Crowley watching him. He paused, taken aback, but after a moment he continued. “I’m sorry I took so long to go looking. I’m sorry I didn’t realize something was wrong when you weren’t at your flat. I’m sorry-” his words were cut off by a strangled sob, and he buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry I failed you so badly, when _you_ have always there for _me_,” he cried.

Crowley watched him break down, something guarded in his eyes. Aziraphale jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and peeked up to see a peculiar expression on the demon’s face. “I forgive you,” he said, voice thick.

Aziraphale’s chest seized and everything in him froze as he stared at Crowley. The demon didn’t flinch away from his gaze; only held it, hand still resting on his shoulder.

“I forgive you,” he repeated.

Aziraphale started crying even harder.

“I’m still… working through some things,” Crowley said while the angel wept. “but I _do_ know three things.”

He waited for Aziraphale to quiet down a bit before pulling him up and turning him to face him, both hands on his shoulders so he could stare the angel in the face. “One: I don’t want to be alone. Two: Even though I’m still trying to figure out what is real and what was Hell, I want to be with _you_,” he paused. “Three: I love you.”

Aziraphale stopped again, brain short-circuiting. “…What?”

“I love you.” Crowley repeated, and damn if he didn’t sound sure of himself. “I think Hell was trying to burn it out,” he admitted, gingerly touching the place on his chest where his burns lie hidden by his shirt, “but they couldn’t.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I love you too,” he said again.

Crowley smiled. It was small, but it was the first smile Aziraphale had seen from him since before their fight. It brought a watery smile to his own face in turn.

“Can we… can we try to find our way back to each other?” Crowley asked, voice softer now; worried.

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course we can, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on[tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	9. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "just a short epilogue" she said...
> 
> But you guys deserve better.
> 
> Thanks again to Brickosaur for the beta, and special thanks to all of you who have stuck with me through this entire disaster! I would like to especially thank those of you who have followed me across multiple works. You haven't gone unnoticed and I look forward to hearing from you every chapter! So thank you!
> 
> For those waiting on responses to your writing prompts, I am working on them! I should also have another part of my Hunters series up within a couple days, which will be response to a prompt from Devinecrone.

They decided to stay in the cabin the rest of the winter, readjusting to one another’s company. Being in such close quarters in an environment as hostile as the Himalayas in winter was both a blessing and a curse, and Aziraphale realized it was rather appropriate for an angel and demon.

There were some days they didn’t say a word to each other; just sat in silence and watched the storms or the fire. Other days they talked for hours, sharing stories of their experiences in the three years since Crowley left the cottage or reminiscing on times gone by.

They still had spats, but thanks to the cabin being a single room and the weather outside being extreme enough neither of them wanted to deal with it (not to mention serpents, demon or otherwise, did not take well to the cold), they were forced to work it out.

Sometimes Aziraphale would say or do something mundane and Crowley would flinch or back into a corner. Every time, Aziraphale would cease his task and very slowly move to sit on the bed until Crowley calmed down enough for them to discuss what it was that triggered him. 

It wasn’t a one-way street. Sometimes when Crowley had an episode – as they’d taken to calling them – his fists would clench and he’d get that glazed look in his eye, and Aziraphale would try to make himself as small as possible. He would tuck himself in the corner behind the bed and try not to think about his best friend choking him against the wall and screaming for the angel to look at him as he cut him open. When Crowley would come back to himself and noticed Aziraphale hiding, guilt would wash over his face and he would check the angel over for any injuries. Fortunately, Crowley hadn’t attacked him again.

One day, during a particularly bad blizzard, a storm of another kind was raging inside the cabin.

“A fucking _note_?” Crowley was yelling.

“What else would you expect me to do?” Aziraphale defended, trying very hard to keep his volume down and failing miserably.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe _look for me_?”

Aziraphale flinched, but other than that held his ground. “I did!”

“But not for another _two years_! I was burning in Hell for _two years_ and you were _sleeping_ and all you did was _leave a note!_” Spit flew from the demon’s mouth as he advanced on Aziraphale, who backed into the wall, eyes widening and glancing to his safe place behind the bed.

The fight drained from the angel. “I didn’t know that,” he said quietly, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. He was failing at that too. “They all agreed to leave us alone. It’s hardly like it was the first time you’ve disappeared after an argument, and you said you didn’t want to see me again.”

Crowley blinked, eyes flicking across Aziraphale’s face before grimacing and partially turning away, anger bleeding from his shoulders. “You said you didn’t need me,” he mumbled.

“We both said hurtful things.”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale sighed, suddenly exhausted. “I’m going to bed,” he said, all but collapsing on the mattress and tucking himself under the blankets while miracling into his pajamas. He rolled to face the wall, back to Crowley and tried to pass his shaking off as being cold. Even though the demon hadn’t moved to attack him yet, Aziraphale always worried what would happen if Crowley had an episode in the middle of an argument and he didn’t have time to hide.

The bed dipped and Aziraphale jumped but didn’t turn around. “I thought you don’t sleep anymore,” he mumbled as Crowley settled under the covers behind him and pressed close.

“I don’t,” he murmured into the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “It’s just warmer under here.”

Aziraphale shuddered again.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Crowley said after a minute. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry too,” Aziraphale said, shivers starting to fade.

Crowley nestled in closer, nuzzling his face into Aziraphale and sighing. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

The angel swallowed, not sure if his friend was talking about physical or verbal attack, and didn’t reply.

“You can go to sleep, angel. I’ll be here.”

Aziraphale woke several hours later to a demon whimpering and twitching in the sheets. At some point the angel had turned around and was now facing Crowley, though they didn’t seem to have been cuddling.

Crowley was curled into a tight ball, crying out softly and shaking his head. “Please, I’ll be good, I promise…” he was whimpering. “I promise, I won’t look away again, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, please-” then he screamed, loud enough to hurt Aziraphale’s ears.

“Crowley!” the angel reached out to wake his friend, but he wasn’t sure the best way to do it. He finally settled on cupping his face. “Crowley, wake up!”

The demon began thrashing, still screaming. Aziraphale felt panic rising in him as he tried to keep the demon from falling off the bed and hurting himself. He didn’t want to shake him or hold him down for fear of triggering an episode when he finally woke up.

Aziraphale settled on the one thing he thought Hell wouldn’t have thought of.

Holding Crowley’s face, Aziraphale pressed his lips against the demon’s and waited.

Crowley immediately froze, whole body stiffening. Aziraphale pulled away only a few inches so he could see if Crowley was awake. He was, eyes wide and staring at the angel.

Aziraphale flushed and began to sit back, an apology already on his lips when Crowley suddenly grasped the back of his head and yanked him back down to crush him in another kiss. Aziraphale squeaked in surprise but didn’t resist – especially when he felt the tension leaving his friend’s body.

When Crowley finally released his angel, his pupils were blown wide enough that they almost looked circular for once.

“You were having a nightmare,” Aziraphale said lamely. “I didn’t want to shake you.”

Crowley swallowed. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

“Whatever for?”

The demon took a deep breath and licked his lips, drawing Aziraphale’s eyes. A tingle ran down his back. Crowley waited for him to meet his gaze again before answering. “Everything,” he whispered, then pulled his angel down to him again.

When the storms began to subside, the ethereal pair made their way down the mountainside to gift the cabin and all its contents to the villagers that had been so kind as to worry about them. Aziraphale didn’t know what they might be able to use it for, but they had it none the less.

They returned to England the human way, relying on busses and boats to move across the continent. Crowley had left the Bentley in the care of the Device-Pulsifers when he went looking for Aziraphale, so they took a bus to the South Downs, then walked the rest of the way to the cottage, hand in hand.

They were still halfway down the street when there was a shrill cry and suddenly Annie was hurtling down the walk and flinging herself at Aziraphale, who was forced to drop Crowley’s hand and take a step back to keep from falling over. Holding the young woman – who had wrapped her legs around the angel’s waist and was sobbing into his shoulder – was effortless, due to his angelic strength, but her tackle had taken him by surprise.

“Papa Fell!”

Aziraphale looked up to see Nora jogging down the walk with Eric following at a slower pace.

“Annie, Nora,” Aziraphale said, pulling his oldest goddaughter into a crushing hug, even with Annie still wrapped around him. “I missed you.”

Nora sniffed as she stepped back. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Jeremy and Arthur would have brought Bran up.”

Aziraphale shared a look with Crowley. “We… weren’t sure when we’d be back, exactly.”

Nora finally looked at Crowley. “Feeling better?” Her voice was friendly but tight, and Aziraphale suspected she hadn’t yet forgiven the demon for what he’d done to him.

Crowley nodded and glanced away, fidgeting under her gaze.

“Why didn’t you answer our calls?” Annie asked, voice muffled by Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, my dear; I didn’t have service, and quite honestly I forgot to charge my phone when we came down off the mountain.”

Annie very slowly released her godfather and eased to the ground, smiling up at him. “Well, I’m glad you’re back.” She then turned to Crowley and yanked him into a tight hug. “And you,” she said.

Crowley blinked in surprise for a moment before returning the embrace and resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I missed you too,” he murmured.

Nora’s face softened, but only a little. “Join us for dinner? It’s almost ready.”

“I can go to the shop and get some wine,” Eric offered.

“No need,” Crowley said. “I’ve got it covered.” He snapped and was holding two rather nice bottles.

“…Right,” Eric said, looking vaguely stunned.

“Shall we?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing back towards their cottages down the street.

“We kept your place clean,” Nora told him as they began walking. “I made sure the books were kept in good condition and we tended the garden.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed, reaching out to take one of the bottles from Crowley and hold his hand again. The demon flushed.

Nora didn’t miss this and eyed the pair of them for a moment. She chose not to say anything, though Aziraphale suspected she would ask later.

The pair handed the bottles to Eric and retreated to their cottage, promising to be over for dinner in half an hour.

“Home sweet home,” Aziraphale said as he closed the door behind them and took a deep breath.

Crowley had moved further into the house and was staring through the doorway into the kitchen. Aziraphale joined him and followed his gaze; he was staring at the spot he’d nearly killed the angel.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale murmured.

The demon’s eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. “I expected there to be a stain,” he whispered.

“I replaced the carpet and repaired the hole in the wall.”

Crowley nodded and turned in place, tucking his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder without opening his eyes. He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

The angel wrapped his arms around his partner and gently patted his back. “Everything turned out alright, didn’t it?”

Crowley swallowed. “If I’d taken any longer to wake up…”

“But that’s not what happened, and I’m alright now.”

“You still flinch when I get angry,” Crowley said, voice thick.

“We’re working on that,” Aziraphale reminded him. “You haven’t even struck me in jest since then, Crowley. I trust that you won’t hurt me. Just like I won’t hurt you.” He very gently lifted Crowley’s chin so the demon would look at him. “I love you,” he said before tenderly kissing him.

“I love you too,” Crowley said as soon as his mouth was free again. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “We’ll be alright.”

“Yes,” the angel agreed. “Now, we have a dinner to get ready for.”

There was still a lot of work to do. Nora was slow to trust that Crowley was as recovered as he appeared to be and constantly asked Aziraphale if he was okay and if the demon had attacked him again. They had to keep their fights quiet so the Device-Pulsifers wouldn’t be able to hear them. It turned out that reducing the volume of their fighting also reduced their frequency. They still argued, but their disagreements tended more and more often towards domestic things.

Crowley took up care of the garden, terrorizing the plants until they grew better. Annie still scolded him when she caught him at it and trying to convince her to leave him to it was a lost cause. She was an unstoppable force, and Crowley an immovable object.

The demon didn’t sleep much, and he had night terrors whenever he _did_ drift off. Aziraphale was always there to wake him with a kiss and help him calm down. The angel himself didn’t sleep as much anymore; he didn’t need to, now that he had Crowley back.

It wasn’t perfect, but was any relationship? They had gone through Hell and back – pun definitely intended – for each other, and even though their rough spots were a touch rougher than a human couple might expect, they were together.

That’s all that really mattered in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all! Let me know what you think of the ending, and as always if you spot any errors please tell me!
> 
> Also, the R theme started as an accident and when Brick pointed it out I was like "that wasn't on purpose but it is now" and I can't believe I found a word beginning with R that was relevant for each chapter...
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


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